THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


f  HE 


DAYS  OF  DANIEL  BOONE 


A    ROMANCE 


"THE  DARK  AND  BLOODY  GROUND.1 


m 

FRANK    H.    NORTON. 


NEW  T»RK 

THE  NEW  YORK  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 
25  CITY  HALL  PLACE 


Comnuotn.  i88\  ft 

AMERICAN   NEWS 


\ 


PREFACE. 


THE  subject  of  American  History  has  been,  L> 
paratively,  but  little  drawn  upon  to  form  a  basis  iui 
American  Fiction. 

Yet,  a  little  reflection  will  show  that  the  history  of 
no  other  country  offers  more  obvious  or  more  frequent 
w  opportunities  for  just  such  application  ;  and  it  is  mat 
J*j  ter  for  surprise  that  American  romance  writers  have 
>-  not  more  generally  utilized  the  archives  of  their  coun- 
o=  try  in  their  professional  work. 

In  the  present  volume,  the  author  has  entered  this 
promising  field,  selecting  for  his  subject  a  character,  a 

€vl 

section  of  country,  and  a  period  of  which  but  little  is 
in 

Q    generally  known  to  American  readers. 

In  undertaking  to  write  a  Romance  of  the  Life  and 

Times  of  Daniel  Boone,  the  author's  design  has  not 

8    been  to  write  history.     This  explanation  is  necessary 

o    for  such  persons  only  as  are  accustomed  to  glean  their 

Q 

&    knowledge  of  the  history  of  France  from  Alexander 
ui 

Dumas  ptre  and  Charles  Lever ;  and  that  of  Germany 

;    from  Miss  Muhlbach. 
«c 

To  cater  to  any  such  misconception  of  the  real  uses 
of  this  class  of  literary  work,  is  not  the  purpose  of  His 
torical  Fiction. 

On  the  contrary,  while  the  author  has  in  many  in- 

447928         '" 


^  'PREFACE. 

stances  in  the  course  of  his  work  employed  actual  his 
torical  occurrences  and  personages,  it  has  been,  design 
edly,  ir  such  wise  that  the  reader  should  not  be  able 
~o  discern  \\here  the  truth  ended  and  the  fiction  began, 
The  puipose  has  been  in  this  narrative  to  interest 

he  reader  in  the  character  of  Daniel  Boone,  by  pictur 
ing  him  as  he  is  authentically  presented  by  history 
associated  with  events,  historical  or  fictitious,  always 
regarding  the  possibilities  if  not  the  probabilities  of  his 
life  ;  but  always  holding  the  chief  object  to  be  the 
amusement  and  not  the  instruction  of  the  reader. 
While,  therefore,  historical  facts  when  given  have  been 
given  accurately ;  and  while  Boone  himself,  and  othei 
personages  who  were  actually  associated  with  his  life, 
have  been  described,  and  their  characters  and  acts  set 
forth,  as  nearly  as  was  practicable,  with  historic  truth : 
the  reader  is  desired  to  remember  that  this  is  a  Romance, 
bearing  the  same  relation  in  literature  to  the  facts  of 
history,  that  in  art  is  borne  by  the  artist's  painting  of 
an  historical  composition,  in  its  relation  to  the  occur 
rence  it  is  meant  to  signify  rather  than  to  depict. 

Deprecating  no  just  and  reasonable  criticism  of  his 
work,  the  highest  praise  of  its  construction  to  which 
the  author's  ambition  aspires,  may  be  best  indicated  by 

he  Italian  expression — 

"  Se  non  I  vero,  }  ben  Irovato* 

FRANK   H.   MORTON. 
ZDOEWATER-ON-THE-HUDSOH 

October,  1883. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

fa  which  the  Reader  is  introduced  to  Daniel  Boone,  and  is  made  ac 
quainted  with  the  condition  of  his  Majesty's  Colony  of  North  Carolina, 
in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1768, 13 

CHAPTER    II. 

Wherein  Boone  becomes  the  guest  of  Judge  Anderson,  and  an  important 
matter  is  considered  ;  and  which  presents  Rafe  Slaughter  to  the  Reader, 
as  a  character  not  unworthy  of  study a£ 

CHAPTER    III. 

In  which  Judge  Anderson  elucidates  his  designs,  without  affording  any 
material  information  either  to  Boone  or  to.  the  Reader ;  while  Rafe 
Slaughter  demonstrates  himself  after  his  kind,  and  the  hunter  at  length 
sets  his  face  homeward, 44 

CHAPTER   IV. 

How  Daniel  Boone  falls  in  with  one  of  the  Regulators,  and  what  happens. 
Disclosing,  moreover,  the  fact  that  there  is  nothing  so  easy  as  to  over 
value  the  weight  of  words, .  ...  59 

CHAPTER    V. 

In  which  the  Reader  is  introduced  to  the  hero  and  heroine  of  this  story 
— as  well  as  to  some  other  important  personages, 5 

CHAPTER   VI. 

How  Daniel  Boone  disappeared,  and  how  the  most  important  characters 
in  our  narrative  were  set  searching  for  him,  and  with  what  success ;  with 
a  hint  at  a  romance  to  be  hereinafter  further  developed,  .  .  .90 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Harry  Calvert,  being  formally  introduced  to  the  Reader  by  way  of  his  an 
tecedents,  leads  his  party  to  Hillsborough.  Stephen  Roberts  sustains 
his  reputation  for  argumentative  capacity,  and  Mike  Dooley  succeeds  in 
freeing  the  coon,  .,,,., Wf 

(5) 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

Wherein  the  Reader  becomes  the  witness  to  an  exciting  engagement,  and 
the  story  progresses  a  material  step  forward, ii| 

CHAPTER    IX. 

Christmas  Eve  and  a  Christmas  present.  With  some  reflections  on  the 
philosophy  of  the  tender  passion,  and  illustrations  from  the  characters 
of  this  story.  Concluding  with  a  catastrophe,  and  the  downfall  of 
"great  expectations,"  .......  .  133 

CHAPTER    X. 

Han;  Calvcrt  comes  to  a  determination,  and  the  Christmas  festivities  at 
Mount  Mourne  to  an  abrupt  conclusion.  A  family  disturbance  and  a 
sudden  severing  of  family  ties, .  153 

CHAPTER    XI. 

In  which  Stephen  Roberts  appears  upon  the  scene  for  an  instant,  to  the 
present  horror  of  the  Reader,  and  for  the  thickening  of  the  mystery 
which  begins  to  enfold  the  characters  of  this  sU>ry,  .  .  167 

CHAPTER   XI.. 

Showing  how  the  Regulators  had  occupied  their  i  m»  ind  disclosing  the 
result  of  Harry  Calvert's  visit  to  his  Plantation.  vVith  some  relation  of 
a  journey  made  to  Judge  Anderson,  and  what  had  I'.aoi^ned  there,  .  \"f 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

A  Tery  long  chapter,  in  which  certain  of  the  characters  hei/i*  *Ue  practice 
of  pioneer  life  in  earnest.  The  Reader  makes  a  third  in  a  discussion  on 
moral  philosophy,  which  is  interrupted  by  a  very  sudden  and  unpxixwted 
occurrence,  and  Mike  Dooley  increases  his  knowledge  of  Natural  History,  igf 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

The  party  of  amateur  explorers  receives  an  unexpected  addition  to  its  uuav- 
bers,  and  Rose  once  more  experiences  a  collision  with  a  piece  of  paper 
which  is  not  without  its  own  importance, 3x9 

CHAPTER   XV 

Which  signifies  that  amateur  exploring  is  not  without  its  dangers  as  well 
as  its  delights,  and  introduces  the  Reader  to  the  noble  red  man  as  he 
appeared  when  on  the  war-path  in  the  year  of  grace  1771,  .  .  .  aji 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

•Wherein  the  Reader  is  present  at  an  interview  between  two  important  per 
sonages,  and  witnesses  a  very  impressive  and  eventful  and  conclusive 

in  the  life  of  onr  of  them,  a** 

•       t  •  * 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

Judge  Anderson  works  out  a  serious  problem  in  abstract  reasoning;  to  a  cor 
rect  conclusion,  through  an  incorrect  process,  ....  263 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

iM  which  the  hapless  condition  of  Squire  and  Lady  O'Brien  offers  a  lesson 
of  charity  and  patience  ;  and  the  Squire,  himself,  concludes  that  he  Is 
being  involved  in  the  meshes  of  a  network  of  mystery,  .  .  .  375 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

In  which  Judge  Anderson  and  Squire  O'Brien  conclude  to  go  West  to  look 
after  their  several  interests  ;  and  the  Reader  is  permitted  to  assist  at  the 
discussion  of  a  communication  which  recalls  the  suggestion  that  "  the 
eril  that  men  do  lives  after  them," 989 

CHAPTER    XX. 

10  which  Daniel  Boone  and  Harry  reappear,  and  the  hunter  quotes  Script 
ure.  The  casting  of  the  bread  of  kindness  upon  the  waters  of  accident, 
is  among  the  seed  planted  in  the  wilderness,  to  bring  forth  fruit  "  after 
many  days  ";  and,  Squire  Boone  having  kept  his  appointment,  the  chain 
of  events  goes  on  unfolding 300 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  "Chapter  of  Accidents."  Capture  of  Boone's  party,  and  all  three  In 
danger  of  a  permanent  loss  of  liberty,  through  an  impending  matrimo 
nial  catastrophe  ;  which  is  providentially  averted,  ....  310 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

The  beginning  of  the  end.  Rafe  Slaughter  has  presentiments  —  and 
Maude  finds  herself  unexpectedly  in  possession  of  an  important  secret. 
A  night-surprise  followed  by  another,  and  Daniel  Boone  is  heard  from 
— with  very  decisive  results.  Traitors  in  the  camp — and  out  of  it,  .  V* 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 

The  death  of  Indian  John.  The  mode  of  travel  is  changed,  giving  an  op 
portunity  for  reflection,  which  is  taken  advantage  of  by  certain  of  the 
characters  of  our  story.  The  travelers  reach  the  last  stage  of  their 
journey, ^4. 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 

Amid  the  sublimest  efforts  of  Nature,  in  rugged  rock  and  riven  mountain- 
chain,  our  travelers  pursue  their  \vay,  joyfully.  Then,  all  is  changed  ; 
and  lingering  by  the  bank  of  a  chance  stream,  the  blow  falls  ;  their  hap 
piness  is  turned  to  mourning,  and  Rafe  Slaughter's  premonitions  come 
to  pass, ......  35! 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

In  which  Rafe  Slaughter's  last  will  and  testament  is  read  ;  and  the  produc 
tion  and  perusal  of  certain  other  documents,  explain  some  of  the  myste 
ries  which  have  infested  this  narrative.  The  murderer  plays  his  last 
card,  and,  failing  of  success,  exposes  certain  complications  of  interest. 
The  friends  of  Rafe  Slaughter  bid  him  farewell,  ....  368 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 

The  return  of  the  adventurers.  A  sad  meeting,  but  a  warm  greeting.  Bat 
tles  are  fought  over  again ;  the  past  is  related  ;  the  present  is  enjoyed, 
and  the  happiness  of  at  least  two  of  the  party  is  secured  for  the  future,  387 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

*  On  Watauga."  Daniel  Boone  appears  in  a  new  character,  and  the  Reader 
is  present  on  an  important  historical  occasion.  The  narrative  fittingly 
concludes  at  the  gwr*  of  one  of  its  chief  personages,  ....  £S 


THE    DAYS 

or 

DANIEL    BOONE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

in  which  the  Reader  is  introduced  to  Daniel  Boone,  and  is  made  acquainted 
with  the  condition  of  his  Majesty's  Colony  of  North  Carolina,  in  the  yen 
of  our  Lord  1768. 

"  THEN  yer  won't  jine  us  ?  " 

"  No,  Harmon  ;  I  don't  think  it  would  be — so  to 
speak — consistent." 

"  Consistent  ?  what's  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  yer  see,  the  Judge  is  a  kind  of  a  friend  of  mine, 
an'  I  haven't — not  quite — the  notion  that  I  could  go 
agin  him  in  a  matter  where  the  law's  with  him." 

"  Yer  makin'  a  mistake,  Dan  '1,  an'  it'll  mayhap  be 
the  worse  fur  yer." 

The  speaker,  as  he  said  this,  looked  significantly  at 
several  men  who  stood  near  by,  and  who  seemed  to  be 
scanning  the  two  who  were  conversing. 

His  companion  turned  his  eyes  in  the  same  direction 
and  gazed  for  a  moment ;  then  he  smiled,  and  lifting 
the  rifle  which  had  been  held  loosely  in  his  hand, 
brought  it  to  his  shoulder,  turning  entirely  about  as 
he  did  so,  and  discharged  it  in  the  air.  Those  standing 
near  looked  to  see  what  was  being  shot,  and  a  hawk 

(13) 


I4  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

fell  from  somewhere,  seemingly  out  of  sight,  to  a  point 
a  few  yards  distant  from  the  marksman. 

"  Yer  must  have  eyes  in  the  top  of  yer  head,  Dan'l, 
to  have  seen  that  fellow,  for  I  go  bail  yer  never  turned." 

He  was  reloading  his  gun  and  merely  said  :  "  One 
/eel's  a  critter  near  him,  after  much  living  in  the  open— 
Injins,  b'ars,  an'  sich — and  I  kinder  hate  hawks."  And 
quietly  shouldering  his  rifle  he  strode  across  the  green. 

He  was  a  tall  man,  in  the  first  prime  of  life,  strongly 
but  not  heavily  built  ;  his  face  and  neck  bronzed  by 
constant  exposure  to  the  weather ;  his  movements  not 
rapid,  but  firm  and  apparently  wary.  His  countenance 
was  attractive,  though  somewhat  stern  and  somber.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  buckskin  hunting-suit,  to  his  belt  be 
ing  attached  a  sheath  in  which  was  his  dangerous-look- 
ing  long  hunting-knife,  while  from  his  shoulder  hung 
his  powder-horn  and  bullet-pouch. 

The  first  impression  that  his  appearance  would  make 
upon  the  mind  of  the  observer,  would  be  that  of  coni 
dence  ;  the  next,  of  reticence. 

His  companion  was  a  thick-set,  red-faced  man  of 
forty-five  years,  or  thereabouts,  with  closely-cropped 
hair,  and  features  strongly  marked — partly  by  evil  pas 
sions,  partly  by  the  results  of  dissipation.  Remaining 
still  for  a  moment  after  the  other  had  left  him,  and 
observing  his  tall  form  as  it  moved  lightly  across  the 
grass,  he  gave  vent  to  an  oath  ;  then  he  joined  the 
party  who  had  been  regarding  these  two. 

"  Well,  Harmon  Cox,  what  says  he  ? "  cried  one  of 
these,  a  slim  man,  with  iron-gray  hair  and  pallid  features 


t>ANl£L  BOOXE.  \  $ 

'  He  says  he'll  have  naught  to  do  with  you  nor  yet 
ways,  an'  be  damned  to  him.  An*  he  says  more,  ye're 
no  better  than  Injins  and  b'ars,  and  a  heap  worse  nor 
hawks  ";  and  so  speaking,  he  kicked  the  carcass  of  the 
dead  bird  which  lay  before  him,  and  looked  to  see  \vhat 
the  others  thought  of  his  message. 

The  three  or  four  men  whom  he  had  joined  were  all 
armed,  and  all  clad  in  various  kinds  of  homespun — 
various  as  to  antiquity  and  consequent  tint — relieved 
occasionally  by  the  presence  of  a  buckskin  hunting- 
shirt,  trimmed  with  a  fringe  of  the  same. 

They  were  all  preoccupied  in  their  manner,  and  their 
faces  wore  a  stern  and  determined  expression,  as  though 
they  contemplated  some  action  of  import,  either  in  the 
past  or  in  the  future.  Among  them  the  one  who  had 
questioned  Harmon  Cox  appeared  to  be  in  authority, 
and  the  others  regarded  him  curiously  after  the  deliv 
ery  of  the  lying  speech  which  Cox  had  given  as  that  of 
the  tall  hunter. 

"  Did  he  say  that  ?  "  queried  the  elder  man. 

The  other  looked  away,  and  spat  on  the  ground,  as 
he  answered:  "Didn't  I  say  so?  I  ain't  before  the 
Judge,  an'  I  ain't  answerable  for  every  word,  but  it  was 
nigh  to  that  as  one  could  remember." 

"  It  ain't  like  Dan'l  to  talk  like  that  ere,"  put  in  a 
red-headed  young  man  who  was  amusing  himself  throw 
ing  l.is  hunting-knife  into  a  tree  before  him. 

"Ain't  it  like  him?"  sneered  the  other.  "Well, 
then,  he's  been  talkin'  to  me  onlike  himself,  for  I  swai 
he  used  every  word — Injin,  an'  b'ar,  an'  hawk." 


The  elder  man  had  been  looking  and  listening ;  non 
he  said :  "  Harmon,  he  may  have  said  the  words,  but  I 
misdoubt  if  he  ever  used  them  after  that  fashion  ;  but 
since  he's  against  us — and  it's  easy  to  see  that's  so — 
why,  he'll  have  to  take  the  chances." 

"  An'  that's  jest  exactly  what  I  told  him." 

The  period  was  the  year  of  our  Lord  1768.  The 
scene  was  the  town  of  Hillsborough,  in  the  province 
of  North  Carolina,  of  the  North  American  Colonies  of 
his  Majesty  George  the  Third,  "  by  the  grace  of  God 
King  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland."  King,  also,  by 
"  the  accident  of  an  accident " — of  such  secondary  mat 
ters  as  a  baker's  dozen  of  broad  provinces  three  thou* 
sand  miles  across  the  ocean,  and  another  baker's  dozen 
of  millions  of  loyal  subjects  thereunto  pertaining. 

George  the  Third  was  King  in  England,  and  Louis 
the  Fifteenth  was  King  in  France.  The  one  an  obsti 
nate  imbecile,  destined  to  plunge  his  country  into  irre 
trievable  disaster,  and  die  miserably  at  last,  a  hopeless 
lunatic  ;  the  other  an  infamous  and  degraded  sensual 
ist,  who  robbed  his  people  that  his  pleasures  might  be 
sustained,  and  who  perished,  victim  to  a  loathsome  dis 
ease,  while  his  subjects  held  gleeful  festivities  in  honor 
of  his  departure  from  the  world  he  had  disfigured. 

These  two  Kings  swayed  all  of  North  America  that 
had  as  yet  been  bought,  stolen,  or  wrested  from  the 
native  Indian  owners.  They  were  men  who,  in  the 
ordinary  walks  of  life,  would  have  attracted  literally  no 
attention ;  save  that  one  might  have  perished  a  drunken 


&L  BOONS.  i; 

Vagabond  in  the  slums  of  Havre  or  Marseilles ;  and  the 
other  have  comfortably  passed  his  existence  as  a  Cheap, 
jide  haberdasher,  and  retained  the  limited  senses  which 
had  been  granted  him  until  he  died  in  his  bed  respected 
and  foi  gotten. 

Such  are  the  wonderful  dispensations  of  Providence. 

Had  George  III.  and  Louis  XV.  been  different  from 
what  they  were,  the  political  and  social  complexion  o{ 
Europe  and  America  would  have  been  widely  different 
from  what  they  are.  But  such  as  they  were,  they  had 
already  succeeded  in  turning  their  loyal  North  Amer 
ican  subjects  into  a  grumbling,  unhappy,  and  rebellious 
people,  in  which  condition,  and  for  various  direct  and 
subordinate  reasons,  the  good  folks  of  the  province  of 
North  Carolina,  especially,  were  seething  and  boiling 
at  the  time  when  the  present  narrative  begins.  It  was 
March,  1768,  and  court  was  to  be  held  in  the  town  of 
Hillsborough. 

Here,  in  the  midst  of  the  more  thickly  populated 
part  of  the  province,  the  usually  scattered  settlement 
had  drawn  closer  together,  and  the  outlying  farms  cen 
tered  upon  the  market-place,  and  the  small,  low  build-  \ 
ing  where  court  was  held.  It  was  a  quiet,  peaceful 
little  town,  where,  usually,  nothing  more  exciting  than 
the  ordinary  farm  gossip  disturbed  the  community  ; 
but  where,  on  this  March  morning,  there  appeared  to 
be  that  stirring,  which,  judging  from  the  gloomy  and 
in  some  instances  savage  countenances  about,  might 
presently  waken  a  storm. 

Lounging  about  the  court  house,  the   school-hous* 


fg  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OP 

on  the  other  side  of  the  Common,  and  the  store  wherc 
Roderick  McCandless  dispensed  his  wares,  were  col- 
lected  in  groups  of  from  five  to  twenty,  quite  three  hun 
dred  people.  They  were  nearly  all  men,  clad  in  home- 
spun,  some  with  short  stock-whips  in  their  hands,  a  few 
with  the  customary  flint-lock  rifle,  while  variety  was 
given  to  the  scene  by  a  half-dozen  plainly-clad  women, 
who  stood  apart,  in  animated  conversation.  Within  the 
small  room  which  was  sacred  to  the  sessions  of  the  Cir 
cuit  Court,  were  to  be  seen  standing  in  groups,  or  look 
ing  out  of  window,  a  number  of  persons  whose  appear 
ance  betokened  a  higher  position  in  life  than  would 
have  been  expected  from  that  of  the  populace  without. 
Conspicuous  among  them,  seated  on  a  slightly  raised 
platform,  was  a  man  of  marked  presence,  and  who  was 
obviously  a  person  of  eminence  in  the  community. 
This  man  was  Col.  Richard  Anderson,  Judge  of  the 
Superior  Court  of  North  Carolina,  who  had  come  to 
Hillsborough  to  hold  court.  Those  about  him  were 
the  leading  farmers  of  the  neighborhood,  court  officials, 
sheriff,  tax-gatherers,  and  others  of  the  more  well-to-do 
of  the  population. 

They  were  all  engaged  in  earnest  though  desultory 
conversation,  and  as  in  the  case  of  those  without  the 
building,  all  seemed  impressed  with  the  serious  nature 
of  the  questions  which  were  under  discussion. 

No,,  to  be  too  historical  in  our  relation,  it  may  be 
briefly  stated  that  for  several  years  matters  in  North 
Carolina  had  been  approaching  a  culmination  of  out 
break  which  was  now  immediately  threatening  The  con- 


DANIEL  BOONE.  ig 

trol  of  public  affairs  in  the  hands  of  the  royalist  officials 
had  become  obnoxious  to  a  large  proportion  of  the 
population,  and  the  aspect  had  been  growing  constantly 
more  threatening  As  is  common  in  colonies  and  in 
now  countries  in  general,  appointments  to  high  office, 
?vith  vast  opportunity  for  doing  public  injury,  had  been 
vested  in  persons  of  unscrupulous  character,  only  too 
willing  to  avail  themselves  of  such  opportunities  when 
ever  offered.  Minor  positions  had  been  similarly  filled 
by  the  creatures  and  tools  of  those  who  appointed 
them,  and  the  result  had  become  so  distasteful  to  the 
poorer  inhabitants,  as  to  awaken  a  spirit  of  bitter  re 
sentment  against  their  oppressors. 

An  additional  occasion  for  popular  ill-feeling  at  this 
period,  was  the  fact  that  the  greater  part  of  the  wealth 
of  the  Colony  was  in  the  hands  of  these  objectionable 
officials,  or  in  those  of  the  Scotch  and  other  traders 
and  store-keepers,  between  whom  and  the  farmers  and 
hunters  there  was  always  debt,  and  consequently  al 
ways  ill-blood. 

Besides,  these  traders  and  others  lived  in  a  style 
quite  beyond  the  ability  of  the  mass  of  the  people, 
indulging  in  luxuries  unknown  to  them,  and  thereby 
constantly  awakening  jealousies  which  had  at  length 
turned  to  pure  hatred,  and  now  only  needed  an  inci 
dent  and  an  opportunity  for  dangerous  manifestation. 

It  was  to  the  very  center  and  hot-bed  of  all  this  ma- 
Jignant  sentiment  that  Judge  Anderson  had  come  tc 
hold  the  regular  court ;  and  the  presence  of  far  more 
than  the  usual  number  of  loungers  about  the  court- 


20  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

house,  as  well  as  the  appearance  of  a  threatening  de 
meanor  in  the  case  of  most  of  them,  may  also  be  thus 
accounted  for. 

The  hunter  who  had  been  spoken  to  by  the  name  of 
"  Dan'l,"  had  directed  his  steps  toward  the  court-house 
after  the  incident  we  have  recounted,  but  he  was  stopped 
and  addressed  by  several  on  his  way,  and  so  it  chanced 
that  the  pallid  man  with  iron-gray  hair,  who  had  ques 
tioned  Harmon  Cox,  reached  that  point  before  him. 

Entering  the  open  door,  this  man  threaded  his  way 
through  the  groups  standing  about,  until  he  faced 
Judge  Anderson.  At  the  same  moment  it  might  have 
been  observed  that  there  was  a  general  movement 
among  all  the  men  on  the  green  and  lounging  about 
the  buildings,  and  that  at  once  the  general  interest  had 
centered  in  the  court-house. 

Observing  who  had  approached  him,  the  Judge  ad 
dressed  him :  "  Well,  Stephen  Roberts,  what  would 
you  have  ?  " 

"  Judge,  is  our  case  against  that  fellow  McCandless 
to  come  to  trial  this  term  ?  " 

"  My  directions  from  the  Governor  are  not  to  recog 
nize  any  case  on  the  part  of  your  people  against  his 
Majesty's  officials." 

There  was  a  movement  on  the  utterance  of  this  state 
ment,  and  loud  murmurs  were  heard  in  all  directions  as 
its  nature  was  carried  from  one  to  another. 

Roderick  McCandless,  the  thrifty  Scotch  shop-keeper 
opposite  the  court-house,  had  held  from  the  Crown  the 
appointment  of  local  tax-gatherer  for  a  year  past,  and 


DANIEL  BOONE,  21 

in  that  capacity  had  managed  to  make  himself  obnox- 
ious  to  the  entire  community,  even  to  an  extent  not 
common  to  tax-gatherers.  It  was  hinted  about  and 
generally  believed  that  he  had  succeeded  in  drawing 
from  the  people,  in  the  way  of  taxes,  far  more  than 
was  legal,  and  that  his  returns  by  no  means  represented 
his  collections.  As  his  case,  though  flagrant,  was  but 
one  of  many  of  the  same  nature,  it  had  been  made  a 
test,  and,  backed  up  by  a  number  of  the  Hillsborough 
people,  was  being  sought  to  be  prosecuted  through  a 
motion  to  call  for  the  examination  of  McCandless' 
books  in  behalf  of  the  Crown. 

The  motion  was  perfectly  regular,  having  been  made 
by  Stephen  Roberts,  himself  educated  as  a  lawyer,  and 
was  in  proper  form — and  no  little  surprise  was  evinced 
when  Judge  Anderson  announced  his  intention  to  re 
fuse  it  a  hearing.  Some,  even,  of  those  standing  about 
him,  and  who  had  themselves  somewhat  to  fear  in  the 
case  of  trouble,  remonstrated  with  him  regarding  his 
determination.  But  to  all  he  turned  a  deaf  ear,  reply 
ing  shortly,  though  pleasantly  enough,  that  he  had  his 
instructions  and  must  comply  with  them,  and  that  no 
case  presented  by  the  so-called  "  Regulators"  could  be 
recognized. 

Perceiving  the  impossibility  of  moving  the  Judge, 
Roberts  quietly  left  the  court-house.  Outside  he  was 
joined  by  Cox  and  a  number  of  others,  and  a  hasty  con- 
ference  was  held. 

While  this  was  going  on — and  it  had  taken  but  a 
very  few  moments — the  hunter  had  entered  the  court- 


22  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

house,  and  could  be  seen  talking  earnestly  to  Judge 
Anderson,  who  listened  attentively,  but  evidently  with- 
out  being  impressed  or  induced  to  change  his  intention. 

The  Judge  presently  rose,  the  hunter  retiring  from 
him  as  he  did  so,  and  was  about  to  give  the  direction 
to  clear  the  court-room,  preparatory  to  opening  court. 
At  this  moment  an  accidental  occurrence  precipitated 
what  followed,  and  entirely  changed  the  aspect  of  af 
fairs — and  for  the  worse. 

There  wa«  heard  a  confusion  of  sounds  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  store,  and  a  rush  was  made  thitherward  by 
the  crowd  without.  Then  a  child  cried  out,  a  man's 
voice  sounded  in  loud  altercation,  and  the  burly  form 
of  Roderick  McCandless,  himself,  was  seem  emerging 
from  his  premises. 

His  appearance  was  not  prepossessing.  He  was 
sandy -haired,  high -cheek -boned,  freckled,  and  pock 
marked.  He  was  tall  and  gaunt,  and  his  low  forehead 
and  snapping  eyes  gave  him  a  mean  expression.  At 
present  he  held  by  the  shoulder  a  small  boy,  whom  he 
shook  with  more  vigor  than  seemed  necessary,  and  who 
bawled  lustily. 

"  Whose  child  is  it  ? "  queried  the  Judge,  as  he 
arrested  his  action  for  a  moment,  disturbed  by  the 
outcry. 

"  It  is  Daniel  Boone's,"  replied  the  person  addressed. 

Hearing  that,  the  tall  hunter  turned  sharply  about, 
took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and  the  next  moment 
was  striding  across  the  green  in  the  direction  of  the  in 
furiated  Scotchman  and  his  prey. 


&AXIEL  JBOONE.  3$ 

He  said  nothing  as  he  approached  him,  but  passing 
his  rifle  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  with  his  disen 
gaged  right  arm  gave  McCandless  a  single  buffet  that 
flung  him  staggering  to  the  ground,  while,  at  the  same 
moment,  he  dexterously  rescued  the  little  boy  from 
his  clutches. 

There  was  a  wild  howl  of  triumph  and  derision  from 
the  crowd,  and  the  fallen  trader  was  at  once  pitched 
upon  and  kicked  and  tossed  from  one  to  the  other, 
each  and  all  having  grievances  enough  for  which  to 
bestow  upon  the  unhappy  victim  each  his  separate 
blow. 

But  the  Scotchman  was  not  without  his  friends  and 
adherents,  as  a  man  who  made  his  money  easily  and 
knew  how  to  distribute  it  to  advantage  must  needs 
have.  And  first  his  men  and  underlings  in  the  store 
rushed  to  his  aid,  and  then  as  the  fight  became  general 
others  gathered  from  various  points,  summoned  hastily 
to  aid  the  Crown  officers,  and  what  at  first  seemed  no 
more  than  a  petty  quarrel,  assumed  the  proportions  of 
a  riot. 

Stones  were  used  freely,  and  clubs,  and  then  the 
sharp  ping  of  a  rifle  was  followed  by  the  report  of  a 
horse-pistol,  and  the  crash  of  broken  glass,  yells  of  rage, 
and  cries  of  pain  made  a  noise  frightful  to  hear. 

At  the  beginning,  Judge  Anderson,  followed  by  the. 
Sheriff  and  other  court  officers,  had  hurried  to  the 
scene ;  and  the  man  whom  they  called  Daniel  Boone, 
having  left  his  child  in  a  place  of  safety,  had  returned 
and  joined  them, 


$4  THK  LIFE  AND  TtM£$  Of 

"  Why  did  he  quarrel  with  the  child,  Boone  ?  '  asked 
the  Judge. 

"  I  have  no  knowledge,  Judge ;  he  was  ill-treating 
the  boy,  and  I  took  him  away  from  him.  But  I  did 
not  think  it  would  make  this  disorder." 

"  Oh,  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  or,  rather,  is 
only  an  excuse.  They  have  been  itching  to  get  at  old 
McCandless  for  a  year  past,  and  I  only  hope  they'll 
spare  his  life.  Ha !  they're  taking  to  fire-arms ;  this 
must  be  stopped." 

And  so  saying,  the  whole  party  rushed  into  the  midst 
of  the  fracas. 

The  Scotchman  was  being  badly  handled,  but  he  was 
not  killed,  and  it  was  Boone's  own  strong  arms  that 
lifted  his  battered  and  bloody  form  from  among  the 
trampling  feet  of  the  "  Regulators." 

He  was  a  repulsive-looking  object  enough,  with  his 
hair  matted  with  blood  and  dirt,  his  eyes  bloodshot,  a 
terrible  gash  in  one  cheek,  and  blood  flowing  freely 
from  what  seemed  to  be  a  knife  or  tomahawk  wound 
in  the  right  shoulder,  and  which  disabled  that  arm. 
He  was,  however,  plucky  enough,  and  seemed  ready  to 
rush  upon  his  assailants,  who  had  retired  a  little  from 
the  attack  of  the  new-comers.  But  at  that  moment 
the  cries  rose  higher  than  ever,  and  it  became  apparent 
that  a  new  victim  had  been  discovered. 

This  was,  in  fact,  no  other  than  the  Sheriff  himself, 
Caleb  Glennie  by  name,  who,  by  the  vigor  with  which 
he  had  prosecuted  distraining  for  non-payment  of  taxes 
or  for  ordinary  debt,  ha-d  won  for  himself  a  name  by 


which  he  was  held  up  to  general  execration.  His  ap. 
pearance  in  the  train  of  the  Judge  had  been  the  signal 
for  a  general  rush  in  his  direction.  He  was  seized, 
dragged  from  the  protection  of  his  associates,  and  in 
another  moment  the  trembling  wretch  was  standing 
beneath  a  tree,  while  one  of  the  Regulators  fastened 
a  rope  to  an  overhanging  branch,  the  pending  noose 
having  been  first  deftly  swung  over  the  Sheriff's  head, 
and  drawn  tightly  about  his  neck. 

"  Egad  !  you're  a  good  hangman — see  how  you  like 
it  yourself." 

"  Ye'll  be  wishin'  ye  might  be  distrained  in  a  minute, 
Cale." 

"  Rise  the  thievin'  villain  !  up  now,  an*  make  haste 
about  it ! " 

And  with  such  cries,  the  rope  was  suddenly  drawn, 
and  the  wretch  swung  several  feet  in  the  air. 

At  that  instant  the  crack  of  a  rifle  was  heard  ;  the 
rope,  pierced  by  the  bullet,  snapped  in  twain,  and  Caleb 
Glennie  fell  to  the  ground — where  he  had  both  sense 
and  strength  enough  to  escape  as  fast  as  his  legs  would 
carry  him,  to  where  the  smoking  rifle  of  Daniel  Boone 
showed  him  his  saviour. 

The  execrations  of  the  disappointed  Regulators  werf 
load  and  deep,  and  a  movement  was  made  to  intercept 
the  runaway  but  just  then  an  unexpected  diversion 
changed  their  minds. 

Smoke  was  seen  coming  out  of  McCandless'  store  ir 
huge  volumes,  while  a  crowd  rushing  in  and  out  of  it, 
bore  from  it  every  article  they  could  lay  their  hands 


<£  fftE  LTfE  AND  TIMES  OP 

r.pon.  Tobacco,  whisky,  jerked  meat,  powder  and  balls, 
fire-arms,  knives  and  tomahawks — every  article  that  wa? 
of  value  to  the  frontiersman,  or  that  tickled  his  fancy ; 
was  to  be  found  in  quantity  in  the  Scotchman's  store, 
and  was  now  eagerly  seized  by  the  incendiaries. 

But  the  affair  had  by  this  time  aroused  the  attention 
of  the  entire  neighborhood  ;  and  fearing  for  their  own 
homes,  and  having  no  particular  interest  with  the  Reg 
ulators,  who  came  mostly  from  other  settlements,  the 
towns-people  gathered  in  force  and  supported  Judge 
Anderson  and  his  friends  and  subordinates  in  quelling 
the  riot.  They  speedily  outnumbered  the  rioters,  and 
in  less  than  half  an  hour  the  latter  had  begun  to  retreat. 
But  before  they  went,  they  made  a  simultaneous  attack 
on  the  Judge,  raising  loud  cries  as  they  rushed  upon 
him  :  "  You  shall  hold  no  court  here  to  deal  out  injus 
tice  ! "  "  We're  keepin'  watch  of  you,  Dick  Anderson  ; 
look  out  for  your  big  barn  some  of  these  fine  nights  ! " 

The  Judge  was  plucky  and  determined,  but  he  was 
unarmed,  and  had  not  Boone  and  others  closely  guarded 
him  and  accompanied  him  to  his  horse,  he  could  not 
have  saved  himself  from  the  fury  of  the  attacking 
party. 

With  the  half-executed  Sheriff  clinging  timorously 
to  his  side,  Boone  shouldered  his  way  past  the  rioters, 
having  the  Judge  close  behind  him,  while  a  dozen  01 
more  of  their  friends  kept  the  way  clear,  striking  right 
and  left  with  whatever  they  chanced  to  have  in  their 
hands. 

Beneath  a  low   shed   next  the  meeting-house,  were 


DANIEL  BOONE.  jy 

tied  the  horses  of  the  party,  and  here,  too,  was  Boone"  a 
son,  a  boy  of  twelve  years,  or  thereabouts,  in  the  care 
of  an  old  negro  to  whom  he  had  been  hurriedly  given 
over  by  the  hunter  for  safe  keeping. 

It  was  the  work  of  a  moment  to  mount  their  horses, 
Boone  taking  his  boy  behind  him,  and  as  a  wild  yell 
from  the  discomfited  Regulators  filled  the  air,  the 
whole  party  rode  rapidly  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
adjoining  county  of  Granville,  where  was  Judge  Ander 
son's  residence,  and  to  which  section  all  of  his  party 
excepting  Boone,  belonged. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Wherein  Boone  becomes  the  guest  of  Judge  Anderson,  and  an  important  m»» 
ter  is  considered ;  and  which  presents  Rafe  Slaughter  to  the  Reader,  u  • 

character  not  unworthy  of  study. 

IT  was  nightfall  of  the  day  following  that  of  the  ex- 
citing  events  in  Hillsborough,  and  Daniel  Boone  and 
Judge  Anderson  were  seated  in  the  handsome  library 
of  the  latter,  in  his  residence  in  Granville  County. 

The  Judge  was  a  man  of  large  private  fortune,  while 
his  official  position  gave  him  not  only  high  standing, 
but  afforded  him  frequent  opportunities  of  adding  to 
his  wealth.  He  was  possessed  of  a  most  enterprising 
and  energetic  nature,  and  a  mind  peculiarly  adapted 
for  the  conception  and  carrying  out  of  large  schemes, 
and  difficult  and  even  dangerous  operations.  He  had 
been  on  intimate  terms  with  Boone  ever  since  the  lat 
ter  had  come  to  North  Carolina  to  live,  being  well 
acquainted  also  with  his  father,  who,  about  fifteen  years 
prior  to  the  period  of  this  narrative,  had  brought  his 
family  to  the  banks  of  the  Yadkin,  where  they  still 
resided 

Though  old  farmer  Boone  had  several  sons,  the  Judge 
had  become  chiefly  interested  in  Daniel  who  had  at  an 
early  age  shown  an  adventurous  disposition,  and  the 
reticence  and  decision  which  still  characterized  hinv 

(23) 


DANIEL  BOONS.  2g 

and  which  were  qualities  that  strongly  appealed  to  the 
thoughtful,  scheming  man  of  the  world,  ever  on  the 
lookout  for  instruments  to  conduct  his  ideas  to  a  suc 
cessful  conclusion. 

In  fact,  having  all  this  in  his  mind,  he  had  sent  a 
message  to  Boone's  home  on  the  Yadkin,  requesting 
his  presence  at  Hillsborough,  at  term  time,  for  a  con 
ference.  Boone  happened  to  be  at  home  when  the 
message  arrived — and  this  was  by  no  means  a  common 
occurrence  with  a  man  who  only  felt  that  he  lived 
when  he  was  in  the  wilderness — and  having  nothing 
immediately  in  view  in  the  way  of  action,  he  very  wil 
lingly  set  forth  on  horseback  to  meet  the  Judge. 

At  the  latter's  request,  too,  he  had  accompanied  him 
to  Granville,  where  they  had  but  just  arrived  at  the 
point  we  reach  in  the  present  chapter. 

Judge  Anderson  farmed  extensively,  employing  a 
large  number  of  hands  to  prosecute  the  work,  and 
overseeing  it  himself  when  his  professional  duties  would 
permit. 

His  residence  was  one  of  the  finest  in  the  country, 
or  indeed  in  the  whole  Colony.  A  large  frame  house, 
substantially  built  in  a  plain  style  of  architecture,  the 
apartments  were  generally  of  great  size,  and  were  fur 
nished  with  everything  that  lavish  wealth  and  a  luxuri 
ous  taste  could  combine  to  bring  together. 

The  room  in  which  the  two  were  now  sitting  was 
smaller  than  the  others,  and  was  more  plainly  furnished, 
while  the  walls  were  lined  with  oaken  shelves  contain 
ing  what  seemed  to  be  a  most  promising  library. 


jO  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

A  hearty  supper  had  refreshed  the  travelers,  v/Lo 
now  sat  beside  a  handsome  oak  library-table,  engage! 
in  discussing  the  extraordinary  events  which  had  taken 
place  at  Hillsborough. 

The  contrast  between  the  elegant  figure  of  the  Judge 
— who  had  taken  time  to  array  himself  in  faultless  linen 
and  rich  broadcloth— and  the  massive  form  of  the  stal 
wart  hunter,  in  his  buckskin  hunting-dress,  was  certainly 
broad  enough,  yet  the  latter  did  not  by  any  means  pre 
sent  an  incongruous  appearance  amid  his  unwonted 
surroundings.  No  more,  indeed,  than  would  a  knight 
in  armor  of  a  few  centuries  before,  or  a  richly  decked 
gallant  tempus  Carolus  Secundus,  in  the  same  circum 
stances. 

Boone  sat,  sedate  and  unperturbed,  as  was  his  cus 
tom,  and  looked  about  him  without  surprise  and  with 
out  concern.  His  idea  of  magnificence  had  never  before 
been  fostered  by  anything  richer  than  the  ordinary  log- 
house  of  the  frontiersman  ;  or,  at  most,  the  common 
place  residence  of  the  townsman  shop-keeper,  with  its 
garish  show  and  want  of  taste.  But,  accustomed  to  the 
stupendous  splendor  of  natural  scenery,  and  the  weird 
and  lonely  grandeur  of  a  life  in  the  wilds  that  only  the 
savage  and  the  buffalo  frequented,  no  artificial  creation 
or  construction  could  readily  confound  him. 

"  Boone,"  said  the  Judge  after  a  period  of  silence  of 
some  length,  "  it  did  not  look  well  or  right  for  us  to  fly 
from  yon  noisy  and  riotous  knaves  and  thieves,  now 
did  it  ?  "  And  he  looked  at  the  other,  curiously,  as  ho 
awaited  his  reply. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  31 

"  Sometimes  one  has  to  run  away  ;  sometimes  he 
makes  others  run  ;  whichever  is  best  to  do  is  right. 
You  might  have  seen  me  run  a  good  number  of  miles, 
beyond  Watauga,  a  twelvemonth  since,  if  so  be  you 
had  been  there." 

"  Indians  ?  " 

"  Shawnees." 

"  I  could  have  done  no  good  by  staying,"  pursued 
the  Judge,  after  a  moment,  returning  to  the  subject; 
"  and  there  was  likely  to  be  more  trouble  while  the 
others  who  were  with  me  remained — Glennie  and  that 
lot ;  the  Hillsborough  people  don't  like  them — and  no 
more  do  I,  for  that  matter." 

"  Why  consort  with  them,  then,  Judge  ?" 

The  latter  looked  surprised  for  a  moment,  and  ar, 
amused  smile  passed  over  his  countenance. 

"  That  is  something  we  can't  '  regulate,'  as  the  '  Reg 
ulators  '  say.  His  blessed  Majesty's  advisers,  over  across 
the  water,  have  a  way  of  appointing  whom  they  please 
to  position  on  this  side,  and  we  must  agree,  one  with 
another,  otherwise  it  will  be  the  worse  for  us.  But 
how  is  it,  Boone,  that  these  fellows  have  not  drawn 
you  in  with  them  ?  I  saw  Roberts  and  Cox  and  one  or 
two  more  of  the  leaders  talking  to  you,  and  I  suppose 
they  were  not  merely  inquiring  after  your  health.  Of 
course  you  know  you  can  confide  in  me." 

Boone  was  silent  for  a  moment,  apparently  reflecting. 

When  he  finally  spoke,  he  drew  nearer  the  table,  and 
lowered  his  voice. 

"You  see,  Judge,  I'm  very  little  about  the 


j2  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

ments,  and  I  ain't — I  own  up — what  you  might  call 
neighborly.  Still,  I  don't  deny  there  have  been  some 
things  said  to  me  about  grievances  and  such.  Kinder 
leadin'  up  to  something  like  what  you  mean.  But  1 
ain't  cut  out  for  that  kind  of  schemin',  conspirin*  life. 
If  I  meet  Injins,  I  know  what  to  expect,  if  so  be  as 
they's  onfriendly,  and  I  act  accordin' ;  but  when  it 
comes  to  towns-people  and  as  to  payin'  taxes,  and  be- 
in'  swindled  consarnin'  deeds,  I  can't  get  up  no  sort  of 
interest  in  it. 

"  An',  Judge,"  and  here  the  hunter  looked  about 
him  and  dropped  his  voice  to  a  hoarse  whisper,  while 
the  Judge  listened  earnestly,  "Judge,  it  ain't  only  round 
Hillsborough,  an'  consarnin'  tax-gatherin'  an*  the  like, 
that  there's  bad  blood  ;  it  lies  deeper  'n  that.  I  hear 
a  deal  when  I'm  crossin'  country,  an'  there's  bitter 
feelin's  that's  got  to  come  out  afore  we  are  ten  years 
older." 

Anderson  said  nothing  to  this,  but  rose,  and  crossing 
the  room,  closed  an  open  door.  Returning  he  sat  silent 
for  a  moment ;  then  he  spoke  again. 

"  Do  you  know,  Boone,  when  the  matter  of  this  riot 
comes  up,  you'll  have  to  be  indicted  as  one  of  the  prin 
cipals  ! " 

The  hunter  raised  his  head  and  stared  at  him. 

"  Me  ?  Why,  Judge,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  that 
mean  Scotchman  would  ha'  been  pounded  to  pieces ; 
an*  your  blackguard  Sheriff,  askin'  your  pardon,  would 
ha'  been  food  for  the  buzzards." 

"  That's  all  so,  and  I'm  not  gainsaying  it ;  but  you 


DANIEL  BOONE.  33 

must  admit  you  knocked  McCandless  down  before  an 
other  blow  had  been  struck." 

"  For  abusin'  little  Jimmy,  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  don't  you  see,  my  friend,  that  the  bare 
fact,  related  against  you,  would  be  very  telling  ?  " 

Boone  said  nothing,  but  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

Presently  he  looked  at  the  Judge,  who  immediately 
burst  out  laughing.  Slapping  the  hunter  familiarly  on 
the  shoulder,  he  said  : 

"  Don't  be  disturbed,  my  friend,  there  are  extenuat 
ing  circumstances  ;  though  I  don't  know  that  saving 
Cale  Glennie  from  his  just  dues  would  be  considered 
one  of  them  ;  but  I  only  advert  to  the  circumstance  to 
offer  a  suggestion  to  you." 

"And  that  is?" 

"  That  it  would  be  just  as  well  for  you  to  take  one 
of  your  famous  trips  into  the  West  after  I  get  through 
with  what  I  shall  have  to  say  to  you.  There  will  be  wit 
nesses  enough  for  the  Crown  and  for  the  People  with 
out  you,  and  I  think  there  is  not  much  danger  of  your 
being  brought  up  on  a  criminal  charge.  But  I  will  say 
you  managed  most  beautifully  to  put  yourself  at  en 
mity  with  both  sides,  and  you  will  be  much  better  off 
a  good  many  miles  away  when  the  case  comes  up  for 
examination." 

"  Thank  yer,  Judge,  I'm  quite  of  your  opinion,  an" 
it  won't  take  me  long  to  get  ready  to  start  off  again— 
though  I  hevn't  any  special  object  in  going." 

"  Don't  let  that  disturb  you,  Boone  !  Before  you 
undertake  your  next  journey  you  shaJl  not  be  without 
** 


34 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 


a  special  object,  that  will  at  once  stimulate  your  plans 
for  self-interest,  and  your  pride  as  a  pioneer." 

"  My  pride  as  a  pioneer,  Judge,  ain't  to  be  spoken  of 
in  this  connection.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  had 
very  littk  »pride,  except  in  the  matter  of  killing  Injuns. 
Now,  there  are  people  as  imagine,  I  dare  say,  that  those 
of  us  who  go  out  in  the  wilderness  fancy  that  we  are 
very  daring  fellows ;  but  any  such  conclusion  is  an  error, 
Judge ;  we  get  that  taken  out  of  us  soon,  after  we  meet 
our  first  b'ar  and  tackle  our  first  Injun,  and  all  the 
pride  that  comes  in  afterwards,  is  that  we  have  got  a 
whole  crop  of  hair  on  our  heads  and  no  bullet-holes 
through  our  carcasses. 

"  As  for  settled  plans — I  haven't  any,  Judge.  I  have 
led  what  my  neighbors  call  a  useless  kind  of  life,  tho' 
perhaps  I  don't  think  so,  and  I  don't  believe,  altogeth 
er,  that  you  would  ;  not  that  these  neighborly  ideas 
affect  me  much. 

"  My  theory  of  life  may  be  a  wrong  one,  but  it  is  the 
only  one  I've  got,  an',  right  or  wrong,  I've  got  to  coma 
thro'  on  it.  If  I  am  not  tiring  you,  I  would  just  like  to 
say  a  word  or  two  on  that  subject,  as  we're  on  it,  be 
cause  I've  got  respect  for  your  opinion,  and  it  seems  we 
may  do  business  together." 

The  Judge  had  listened,  apparently  interested  in  all 
that  the  pioneer  had  said  of  himself,  and  now  only  re 
marked,  by  way  of  response  :  "  Go  right  ahead,  Boone. 
I  like  to  hear  you  talk,  because  you  are  the  kind  of 
man  who  does  not  talk  often,  and  generally  has  a  good 
deal  to  say  when  the  occasion  comes  up.  Your  theory 


t)ANlEL  BOONS.  35 

of  life  has  certainly  worked  out  a  good  result,  and 
though  it  may  not  agree  with  mine  exactly — for  pre 
cisely  that  reason  you  may  be  the  very  man  I  want  to 
carry  out  my  own  ideas." 

Boone  looked  as  pleased  as  his  usually  unchangeable 
eatures  would  permit.  He  was,  in  fact,  a  man  who  ex 
pressed  very  little  in  his  face,  which  was  usually  set  in 
calm  repose. 

"  Well,  Judge,  to  go  on — much  of  my  life,  as  you 
know,  has  been  passed  in  the  wilderness  with  the  In 
juns  and  other  savage  creeturs,  and  I  don't  harmonize 
exactly  with  my  fellow-beings — not  as  well  as  might  be 
useful  to  me — so  I  generally  leave  my  farm  and  domes 
tic  concerns  to  the  old  woman,  and  to  the  boys,  who 
are  now  getting  up  a  little,  an'  beginnin'  to  do  some- 
thin',  and  when  I  get  a  chance  I  go  to  my  business — 
which  is  what  the  neighbors  call  loafing. 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  them — I  need  not  say — and 
very  few  of  them,  or  I  miss  my  mark,  would  find  it 
such  a  lazy  life  up  Watauga  way  where  I  was  last  year, 
and  where  a  man  has  to  keep  his  faculties  about  him 
day  an.'  night,  and  his  eyes  very  wide  open  when  they 
are  open,  and  his  body  active  most  of  the  time.  There's 
not  much  loafing  about  that. 

"  Meanwhile,"  he  continued,  "  traveling  out  there 
and  taking  a  chance  for  game,  or  a  shot  at  an  Injun, 
wouldn't  be  a  very  ambitious  kind  of  life,  I  admit,  and 
that  ia  just  where  my  theory  comes  in. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Judge  " — and  here  Boone 
leaned  forward  a  little  and  held  his  forefinger  impres- 


j6  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

sively  in  the  air — "  I  always  had  a  kind  of  idee  that 
some  men  were  planed  out  for  certain  kinds  of  work  in 
this  world,  and  kind  of  drove  to  take  it  whether  they 
wanted  to  or  not. 

"  So  far  as  that  goes,  my  theory  of  my  kind  of  work, 
calls  it  pioneering,  goin'  ahead  of  the  rest  of  the  world 
and  smoothin'  the  path,  findin'  out  the  dangers  and 
makin'  them  scarcer,  makin'  it  kind  of  easy,  you  know, 
for  the  weak-kneed,  the  young,  an'  the  old,  who  go  to 
build  up  the  settlement  afterwards.  I  do  not  know  as 
there's  any  high  callin'  in  that  kind  of  work,  or  that  it 
is  anything  to  be  proud  of ;  but  when  I  think  of  it  at 
all  I  can  not  help  thinkin'  that  it  is  useful." 

As  he  said  the  last  few  words  Boone  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  again,  and,  crossing  his  legs,  offered  the 
appearance  of  a  man  who  had  concluded  all  that  he 
had  to  offer  on  the  subject  in  hand. 

"You  do  not  talk  often,  Boone,"  said  the  Judge, 
"  but  when  you  do  talk,  you  say  something. 

"  Your  theory  is  a  sound  one,  and  shows  an  amount 
of  philosophy  that  I  would  not  have  looked  for  in  you. 
It  has  frequently  occurred  to  me  that  certain  men  are 
marked  out  for  certain  fixed  duties,  having  some  relation 
to  the  general  well-being.  Decidedly  those  which  you 
have  taken  upon  yourself  or  which  have  fallen  in  your 
way,  are  of  grave  importance ;  and  your  course  is  the 
more  satisfactory  to  me,  because  these  duties  coincide 
exactly  with  my  own  designs,  in  aiding  which  I  think 
you  may  be  a  very  efficient  instrument." 

"  You  ar~  a  long-headed  man,  Judge,  and  any  idea* 


DANIEL  BOONE.  37 

you  have  will  be  -.vorth  something ;  .ad  whatever  I  can 
do  to  help  them  along  I  will  do  as  well  as  I  know  how." 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  the 
two  were  sitting,  opened  to  admit  a  man  who  was  a 
stranger  to  Boone,  but  evidently  far  from  being  so  to 
Judge  Anderson,  who  arose  as  he  entered  and  approach 
ed  him  with  every  sign  in  his  manner  of  gratification 
and  friendly  interest. 

"  Rafe,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said  ;  "  when  did 
you  arrive,  and  how  is  everything  at  the  mill  ? — but 
first,  I  must  make  you  acquainted  with  my  friend 
Daniel  Boone." 

As  he  said  these  words  Boone  rose  from  the  chair, 
his  tall  form  towering  far  above  that  of  the  new-comer. 

The  latter  was  an  extraordinary-looking  specimen  of 
humanity ;  being  at  the  same  time  a  character  destined 
to  occupy  a  prominent  position  in  this  narrative. 

Rafe  Slaughter  was  a  man  well  on  in  middle  life, 
judging  from  the  iron-gray  that  mixed  with  his  coal- 
black  hair,  and  from  the  lining  of  his  features,  which 
were  manced  and  impressive.  Still  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  from  his  appearance  exactly  for  how  many  years  he 
had  carried  through  life  the  remarkable  structure  which 
he  exhibited. 

Not  much  more  than  five  feet  in  height,  he  was  thin 
spare,  and  cadaverous.  His  face  was  long  and  very 
white,  beardless  and  sallow.  His  hair  hung  in  locks, 
lightly  curled  at  the  ends  about  his  neck  and  over 
his  forehead. 

But  his  arms  were  the  most  remarkable  part  of  his 


38  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  Of 

anatomy,  and  their  appearance  at  once  caused  him  tc 
assume  a  permanent  position  in  the  memory  of  even 
the  most  careless  observer. 

They  extended  some  ways  below  his  knees  and 
showed  at  their  extremities  powerful  hands,  very  white 
and  long,  and  which  gave  an  uncanny  look  to  the 
whole  figure.  His  legs  were  short  and  attenuated,  his 
feet  very  small, — altogether  he  looked  not  so  much  like 
a  malformed  man  as  like  an  adroit  imitation  of  human 
ity. 

The  time  which  has  been  taken  in  this  description 
has  been  no  greater  than  that  which  elapsed  between 
the  last  remark  of  Judge  Anderson,  and  the  next  ob 
servation  from  any  of  the  three. 

The  hunter  stood  dumb  with  astonishment  at  the 
sight  of  the  strange  figure  before  him. 

The  latter  remained  near  the  door,  with  his  long  arms 
hanging  straight  down  by  his  sides,  saying  nothing; 
while  the  Judge  silently  enjoyed  the  situation,  and  the 
difference  in  the  appearance  of  his  two  friends. 

He  broke  the  silence  presently,  however,  to  say 
"Boone,  this  is  my  friend  and  secretary,  Rafe  Slaugh 
ter  ;  a  man  who  knows  more  about  me  than  I  do  about 
myself,  and  whom  I  trust  implicitly  with  everything 
that  concerns  me.  I  want  you  to  know  each  other  and 
to  be  good  friends." 

At  these  words  Rafe  lifted  up  his  right  hand,  as 
though  it  were  something  he  was  taking  from  the  floor, 
and  extended  it  in  the  direction  of  Daniel  Boone,  who 
seizing  it  rather  gingerly  in  his  own  let  it  drop  smartly, 


DANIEL  BOONE.  39 

seemingly  apprehensive  lest  it  should  burn  or  other 
wise  injure  him. 

Up  to  this  moment  Rafe  had  not  spoken  ;  but  he 
now  found  his  voice,  which,  to  the  astonishment  of  the 
hunter,  proved  to  be  very  deep-toned,  and  quite  out  of 
proportion  with  the  size  and  general  appearance  which 
its  owner  presented. 

"  I  have  heard  of  Daniel  Boone,"  he  said,  slowly ; 
''you  come  from  up  Yadkin  way,  I  think?" 

The  hunter  nodded. 

"  I  have  heard  of  you,"  he  continued,  "  as  the  man 
who  has  been  further  West  than  almost  anybody  else 
in  the  Colonies.  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"Any  friend  of  Judge  Anderson's  is  bound  to  ge.* 
my  respect,  so  far,"  said  Boone  cautiously. 

Judge  Anderson  laughed. 

"  You  may  take  him  on  my  valuation,  Boone ;  by 
and  by,  when  you  know  him  better,  you  will  like  him 
on  your  own  ;  now  sit  down,  both  of  you." 

The  hunter  resumed  his  seat,  and  the  Judge's  secre 
tary  established  himself  near  the  door. 

Being  seated,  the  latter  turned  to  the  Judge,  saying  : 
"  It  seems  you  had  some  kind  of  trouble  at  Hills 
borough." 

"  We  did,"  replied  the  Judge  ;  "  and  if  it  had  not  been 
for  my  friend  Boone,  it  might  have  been  worse — just 
as  if  it  had  not  been  for  him,  it  might  have  been  bet 
ter," — and  here  the  Judge  cast  a  laughing  glance  at  the 
hunter,  who  merely  uttered  ,1  grunt  to  signify  that  thp 
'T*  }y.i(\  ,i!re;j<I  bym  <'\')).'!ustc(j. 


^O  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Judge  Anderson,  however,  who  was  something  of  a 
humorist,  in  his  way,  was  inclined  to  get  the  most  he 
could  out  of  what  appeared  to  him  to  be  a  capital 
joke. 

"  You  see,  Rafe,"  said  he,  "  this  excitable  friend  of 
mine  had  to  make  an  attack  upon  McCandless,  on  account 
of  some  boy  the  Scotchman  was  putting  out  of  his 
shop.  The  boy  was  Boone's  son,  but  I  do  not  know 
as  that  need  make  any  difference  with  my  story." 

The  hunter  smiled  grimly  at  this  way  of  putting  it. 
which  even  he,  though  not  very  appreciative  of  jests, 
could  not  fail  to  enjoy. 

"  McCandless  was  treating  the  boy  rather  roughly, 
when  Boone  interfered,  and  the  crowd,  who  had  only 
been  waiting  for  a  good  chance,  saw  their  opportunity 
and  pummelled  the  Scotchman-  unmercifully ;  then  a 
general  fight  followed,  and  it  turned  out  that  our  friends 
the  Regulators  were  using  these  means  to  settle  their 
own  private  difficulties  with  McCandless.  and  one  or 
two  others. 

"  It  really  began  to  look  quite  exciting  when  they 
ran  the  Sheriff  under  a  tree  with  a  rope  round  his  neck, 
and  made  preparations  to  hang  him.'' 

"They  did  hang  him,  Judge,"  remarked  Boone  at 
this  juncture. 

"Quite  right,"  said  the  Judge  laughing,  "they  hung 
him— several  feet  in  the  air,  and  you  will  hardly  believe 
that  he  would  have  been  hanging  there  yet,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  a  bullet  from  the  rifle  of  Boone  here :  it 
actually  cut  the  rope  in  two ;  the  man  dropped,  and 


DANIEL  BOONE.  4 1 

before  the  crowd  could  recover  from  their  consternation 
he  succeeded  in  reaching  us. 

"  His  friends,  I  suppose  (I  would  say,  however,  I 
hardly  think  he  had  a  friend  in  the  party),  could  not 
very  well  avoid  helping  the  Sheriff  out  of  his  trouble, 
so  we  all  surrounded  him  and  brought  him  off  iv 
safety." 

"  You  ran  away  from  the  field,  Judge,"  said  Rafe, 
and  a  sarcastic  smile  showed  itself  at  the  corners  of  his 
mouth. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  Judge,  and  his  brow  lowered  a 
little,  while  the  color  rose  in  his  face ;  "  you  may  call  it 
that  if  you  have  a  mind,  and  I  am  not  particularly 
proud  of  my  own  part  in  the  matter ;  yet,  you  must 
know,  that  it  would  not  have  done  for  a  Superior  Court 
Judge  to  have  joined  voluntarily  in  a  riot." 

"  Why  did  you  not  suppress  it  ?"  said  the  other. 

"  That  is  very  easily  said — with  what  instruments  ? 
there  were  about  fifteen  of  us,  and  three  hundred  of 
the  Regulators.  Besides,  the  towns-people  came  in  to 
protect  their  own  property,  and  as  they  were  willing  to 
do  the  fighting,  I  was  willing  they  should. 

"  Moreover,  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  refuse  hold 
ing  court,  which  was  precisely  what  I  most  desired." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Why,  that  fellow  Roberts  was  worrying  me  about 
his  case  against  McCandlcss,  which  I  had  received 
orders  not  to  entertain.  I  may  tell  you,  confiden 
tially,  that  I  think  the  case  a  good  one,  and  differed 
with  the  Governor  as  to  its  being  brought  to  i 


42  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

ment ;   but  as  it  stood,  I  had  nothing  t  D  do  but  to 
obey  orders. 

"  Under  the  circumstances,  the  best  course  for  me 
was  not  to  hold  court,  since  I  would  thus  gain  time, 
during  which  the  matter  may  come  under  reconsider- 
ation,  and  be  adjudicated  differently." 

"  Looking  at  it  from  that  point  of  view,"  said  Rafe 
v  I  do  not  know  but  what  you  are  right ;  of  course  you 
have  heard  nothing  from  Hillsborough  since?" 

"  Not  a  word,"  replied  the  Judge.  "  There  has  not 
been  time.  We  rode  hard,  and  only  reached  here  this 
afternoon.  Now  I  have  answered  your  questions,  will 
you  be  good  enough  to  answer  mine  ?" 

"  I  found  everything  satisfactory  at  the  mill,"  said 
Rafe,  as  though  no  time  had  elapsed,  or  other  subject 
been  treated,  since  the  question  was  asked  on  his  first 
entrance.  "  All  the  lumber  is  being  got  out  that  you 
ordered." 

"  Have  you  brought  the  accounts  ?  " 

"  I  have ;  here  they  are,"  and  he  extracted  a  pack 
age  of  papers  from  a  pocket  in  his  coat,  and  handed  it 
to  the  Judge,  who  laid  it  on  the  table  opposite  to  him, 

"  Now,"  said  the  latter,  "  as  it  is  growing  late  and  I 
am  a  little  tired,  I  think  I  will  go  to  bed.  In  the  morn 
ing" — he  continued,  addressing  Boone — "  I  shall  want 
to  see  you  to  talk  over  the  plan  I  mentioned  to  you  be* 
fore  Rafe  came  in." 

Going  to  the  door  the  Judge  looked  out  into  the 
great  hall,  where,  as  it  was  still  chilly,  a  large  wood-fire 
was  burning  in  the  capacious  open  fire-place  which  filled 


&ANIEL  BOONE.  43 

nearly  half  of  one  end.  On  a  table  stood  several  can 
dies  in  brass  candlesticks  ;  and,  being  followed  into  the 
hall  by  his  two  companions,  the  Judge  gave  each  of 
them  one,  and  they  retired  to  their  rooms. 

In  one  bed  in  the  apartment  to  be  occupied  by  the 
hunter,  lay  the  young  lad  who  had  been  the  innocent 
occasion  of  the  Hillsborough  riot — a  conflict  which  was 
to  pass  into  history  as  one  of  the  first  occasioned  by 
the  growing  dissatisfaction  experienced  by  the  Colo, 
nists,  in  regard  to  the  conduct  of  the  officials  who  rep 
resented  among  them  a  harsh  and  unjust  Government. 


CHAPTER  III. 

fa  which  Judge  Anderson  elucidates  his  designs,  without  affording  anj  tuto 
rial  information  either  to  Boone  or  to  the  reader;  while  Rafe  Slajghter 
demonstrates  himself  after  his  kind,  and  the  hunter  at  length  sets  his  fac« 
homeward. 

ON  the  morning  following  the  events  recorded  in  our 
last  chapter,  Boone  was  stirring  early,  as  was  his  habit ; 
so  early,  in  fact,  that  none  of  the  members  of  the  house- 
Bold  were  visible  as  he  emerged  on  the  long  piazza,  that 
extended  across  the  front  of  Judge  Anderson's  resi 
dence. 

The  day  was  bright  and  cheerful,  though  there  was 
a  slight  chill  in  the  air,  and  the  birds  were  singing  their 
spring  songs  amid  the  fresh  leaves  that  were  putting 
forth  in  all  directions  from  the  shrubbery,  and  from  the 
larger  trees  that  shaded  the  lawn. 

The  first  one  of  Judge  Anderson's  family  to  appear 
was  his  daughter,  a  lissome,  active,  and,  withal,  ex 
ceedingly  pretty  girl  of  some  sixteen  years,  who  had 
seen  the  hunter  at  tea  the  night  before,  and  who  now 
addressed  him  with  the  freedom  which  characterized 
the  times  and  people,  and  was  specially  common  be- 
tween  Boone  and  all  children.  These  always  seemed 
to  recognize  at  a  glance  that  the  stalwart  nature  of  the 
pioneer  signified  a  man  to  be  implicitly  trusted,  and 
they  made  friends  with  him  without  ceremony. 
(44) 


DAXIEL  BOONE.  45 

Indeed,  Boone  always  unbent  from  his  customary 
serious  and  preoccupied  mien,  when  in  the  society  ol 
these  young  people.  On  this  occasion,  after  the  usual 
morning  salutation,  he  freely  questioned  the  girl  as  to 
her  amusements  and  the  society  which  she  found  in  the 
neighborhood. 

The  section  where  Judge  Anderson  resided  was 
thickly  populated,  though  his  immediate  residence 
and  farm  were  somewhat  isolated,  and,  indeed,  occu 
pied  a  considerable  tract  of  land — many  hundred  acres, 
in  fact — the  most  of  which  was  under  cultivation. 

There  were,  however,  a  number  of  well-to-do  families 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  among  these  Jessie  Anderson 
was  a  favorite.  She  had,  therefore,  much  to  tell,  in  her 
winsome  and  girlish  fashion,  of  the  pastimes  that  were 
common  to  her  class  in  society.  These  were  not  widely 
different  from  such  as  occupy  young  people  similarly 
situated  in  our  own  times.  There  were  parties  and  jun 
ketings — picnics,  we  would  call  them — and  excursions 
into  the  woods,  which  in  this  part  of  the  country  were 
free  from  both  Indians  and  wild  beasts — the  two  dan 
gers  which  were  certain  to  be  encountered  by  forest 
wanderers  not  many  miles  farther  west. 

The  young  men  of  the  neighborhood,  she  said,  were 
mostly  farmers'  sons,  though  some  of  them  were  clerks 
in  the  offices  of  the  Government  officials  in  the  neigh 
boring  town. 

The  hunter  quite  enjoyed  her  pleasant  conversation, 
much  of  which  he  elicited  by  questions  which  would 
hardly  have  been  expected  from  one  more  accustomed 


46  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

to  the  solitude  of  a  wild  and  uncultivated  country,  than 
to  the  habits  of  refined  society. 

While  they  were  thus  engaged  Judge  Anderson  him 
self  appeared,  followed  closely  by  the  anomalous  figure 
of  his  secretary.  The  Judge  shook  hands  warmly  with 
Boone,  and  hoped  he  had  passed  a  pleasant  and  rest 
ful  night.  Rafe  Slaughter  extended  his  hand,  at  the 
extremity  of  his  long  right  arm,  again  with  the  appar 
ent  motion  of  picking  up  something  from  the  ground, 
and  offering  it  as  a  propitiatory  gift,  and  Boone  took  it 
with  much  the  manner  of  receiving  some  unexpected 
and  not  altogether  desirable  article  which  was  being 
thrust  upon  him. 

The  hunter  could  not,  indeed,  quite  recover  himself 
from  the  startling  impression  made  upon  him  by  this 
peculiar -looking  being.  He  seemed,  as  he  regarded 
the  Judge's  secretary,  to  be  turning  over  in  his  mind 
some  dim  comparison,  as  though  with  creatures  that 
he  had  seen  pictured  in  books,  or  possibly  in  life,  dur 
ing  the  course  of  his  peregrinations. 

"  Judge,"  said  Boone,  after  he  had  performed  the 
manipulation  with  the  secretary  to  which  we  have  re 
ferred,  "  I  was  thinking  I  would  be  moving  homeward 
as  early  to-day  as  you  can  spare  me,  because,  you  see, 
I  ain't  anxious  to  meet  any  of  those  Regulator  fellers, 
and  by  the  time  that  Hillsborough  matter  gets  noised 
round  they're  pretty  sartin  to  collect  themselves  to 
gether.  My  road  to  Yadkin  lies  right  through  the 
thickest  of  'em,  and  if  I'm  going  to  travel  out  o'  the 
neighborhood,  thar  ain't  any  .use  of  my  havin'  anything 


DANtEL  BOONS.  47 

to  say  to  'em  ;  an'  besides  that,  Judge,  I  was  turning 
over  in  my  mind  in  the  night  what  you  was  telling 
me,  and  it  ain't  any  more  agreeable  for  me  to  meet 
the  King's  officers  just  now ;  so,  altogether,  unless 
you  can  raise  objections,  I  think  the  sooner  I  start  the 
better." 

"  You  may  be  right,  Boone,  about  the  Regulators," 
said  the  Judge,  thoughtfully.  "  If  you  stay  in  these 
parts  they  won't  be  satisfied  unless  you  either  join 
them  or  set  yourself  against  them,  and,  as  I  understand 
:t,  you  don't  care  to  do  either. 

"  As  for  the  King's  officers,  I  don't  think  you  need 
anticipate  any  trouble  from  them,  even  if  you  should 
meet  any,  which  is  not  likely.  Whatever  action  is  to  be 
taken  with  regard  to  the  riot  will  be  my  work,  at  least 
in  the  beginning,  and  it  will  take  some  time  to  arrange 
about  that.  However,  what  I  have  to  say  to  you  will 
not  occupy  a  great  while,  and  we  will  get  at  it  immedi 
ately  after  breakfast,  which  I  see  by  Jessie's  face  is  now 
waiting  for  us." 

The  young  girl  had,  in  fact,  retired  into  the  house  on 
the  appearance  of  her  father,  and  now  showed  herself 
at  the  door,  where  her  appearance  answered  the  pur 
pose  of  announcing  the  morning  meal,  whose  period 
was  now  further  indicated  by  the  ringing  of. a  laige  bell 
in  the  hands  of  a  black  girl.  The  others  followed  her 
in,  and  presently  were  seated  around  a  well-filled  table 
in  the  large  dining-room,  where  Mrs.  Anderson,  another 
daughter,  and  a  lad  a  few  years  younger  than  his  sis 
ters,  comprising  the  family,  were  already  gathered  in 


48  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

waiting.     The  meal  passed  quickly  in  pleasant  conver 
sation,  in  which  the  secretary  took  a  distinguished  part 

This  strange  being  was,  in  fact,  as  peculiar  in  his 
mental  as  in  his  physical  constitution.  With  a  face  oi 
such  a  lugubrious  cast  that  a  smile  would  have  seemed 
quite  out  of  place  on  it,  he  possessed  a  wit  as  spirited 
and  original  as  its  expressions  were  unexpected  to  those 
unacquainted  with  him. 

The  son  of  an  English  clergyman,  according  to  his  own 
story,  Rafe  Slaughter  had  received  a  university  educa 
tion,  being  himself,  he  said,  originally  designed  for  the 
ministry.  The  embarrassment  which  grew  upon  him 
with  his  years,  as  he  contemplated  his  ungainly  form 
and  harsh  and  peculiar  features,  had  eventually  turned 
him  from  his  tendency  in  that  direction. 

The  parental  determination  had  not  been  sufficient 
to  overcome  his  strong  feelings  of  dislike  to  undertake 
the  profession  of  religion  ;  and  this  being  persisted  in, 
as  he  stated,  had  brought  about  such  a  combat  of  wills 
that  the  young  man  had  emigrated  to  the  Colonies, 
with,  in  lieu  of  patrimony,  merely  his  education,  and  a 
very  firm  determination  to  succeed  in  the  pursuit  of 
some  object  in  life,  the  nature  of  which,  however,  he 
had  not  yet  fully  determined. 

This  had  occurred  some  twenty  years  before  the 
period  we  are  considering,  for  Rafe  was  much  oldei 
than  his  present  employer.  He  had  drifted  about  from 
one  city  to  another,  employing  himself  in  teaching,  or 
in  such  other  ways  as  presented  themselves,  making  a 
scanty  living,  rendered  more  difficult  to  obtain  by  his 


DANIEL  BOONE.  49 

personal  characteristics.  He  had,  finally,  about  five 
years  before,  floated  into  Granville  County,  and  at 
tracted  the  notice  of  Judge  Andeijon,  who  was  not 
slow  to  recognize  ability,  however  it  might  be  masked. 

From  doing  odd  jobs  of  writing  and  research  among 
law  books  for  precedents,  Rafe  had  grown  into  hig 
present  position — that  of  secretary,  factotum,  and  con 
fidential  agent,  in  which  lines  he  had  made  himself 
absolutely  essential  to  his  employer. 

For  three  years  past  he  had  lived  in  the  family  of 
the  Judge,  treated  as  an  equal,  and  rather  like  a  trusted 
fiiend  and  adviser  than  as  a  subordinate — though  Judge 
Anderson  did  not  altogether  credit  his  secretary's  state 
ment  as  to  all  the  details  of  his  past  life. 

Rafe's  character  was  as  strange  a  mixture  as  his  or 
ganization.  To  great  firmness  and  determination  in 
most  directions,  there  were  allied  in  him  weaknesses 
which  would  long  before  have  conquered  a  less  reso 
lute  man. 

Really  born  of  an  old  Irish  family  in  high  repute, 
he  had  inherited  qualities  of  rare  virtue.  A  high  sense 
of  honor,  precise  personal  integrity,  and  indomitable 
courage,  both  physical  and  moral,  were  characteristics 
of  a  nature  which  would  thus  seem  to  be  fully  and 
excellently  equipped  for  the  world's  battle.  With  these 
qualities  were  unfortunately  combined  others,  now  hap 
pily  overcome,  which,  like  the  evil  gift  of  the  revenge 
ful  fairy  in  the  legend,  had  for  many  years  gone  far  to 
frustrate  and  distract  a  life  which  would  otherwise  have 
been  singularly  symmetrical. 


$0  THE  LTFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

With  the  noble  characteristics  which  doubtless  de 
scehded  from  his  ancestors,  Rafe  Slaughter  had  inher 
ited  from  some  one  of  them,  a  passion,  which  a  century 
before  had  been  even  more  prominent  than  at  the  time 
of  which  we  are  writing — the  love  of  strong  drink. 

Yet  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  either  in  England  or  among 
the  people  of  the  Colonies,  who  gained  their  habits  as 
well  as  their  manners  and  customs  from  the  mother- 
country,  there  was  any  marked  tendency  toward  tem 
perance.  Quite  on  the  contrary,  our  forefathers  of  this 
period,  and  their  relatives  on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean, 
were  both,  as  a  rule,  greatly  addicted  to  imbibing. 

In  the  southern  provinces  of  America,  more  particu 
larly — since  these  had  derived  their  population  to  a 
considerable  extent  from  the  old  English  cavalier  fam 
ilies — heavy  drinking  was  the  rule,  both  among  the 
upper  and  lower  classes. 

Rafe  had  formed  the  habit  in  his  younger  days,  and 
it  had  long  clung  to  him  with  tenacity.  He  had  always 
been,  however,  sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  control 
any  marked  exhibition  of  its  evil  effects,  and  long  be 
fore  the  period  when  he  is  introduced  to  the  reader,  he 
had  totally  and  permanently  overcome  its  influence 
upon  him. 

This  digression  is  necessary  at  this  point  to  afford  a 
fair  understanding  of  the  original  nature  of  a  man,  who, 
as  will  be  hereafter  seen,  was  destined  to  occupy  a 
prominent  position  in  con-iection  with  the  events  which 
are  to  be  herein  recorded. 


DANIEL  SCONE.  51 

After  breakfast  was  over,  and  all  had  risen  from  the 
table,  the  Judge  led  the  way  to  the  library,  whither 
Boone  and  the  secretary  accompanied  him  ;  but  before 
he  left  the  dining-room,  the  hunter  was  careful  to  see 
his  son  handed  over  to  the  good  graces  and  kindly  care 
of  Jessie  Anderson,  who,  with  her  brother  and  sister, 
was  gladly  willing  to  do  what  she  could  toward  amusing 
the  boy,  who  appeared  to  these  children  as  quite  a  hero, 
from  his  connection  with  the  events  at  Hillsborough. 

Being  seated  about  the  library-table,  and  the  door 
closed,  Judge  Anderson  filled  his  pipe,  a  luxury  which 
he  freely  permitted  himself,  but  which  Boone  refused 
and  opened  the  conversation. 

"  Boone,"  he  said,  "  how  far  west  have  you  been  in 
your  travels  ?  " 

The  hunter  thought  a  moment,  and  then  said :  "  Well, 
I've  traveled  a  good  deal  up  Watauga  way,  and  along 
the  forks  of  the  Holston,  and  once  got  as  far  as  Cum 
berland  Gap." 

"  When  did  you  make  your  first  trip  ?" 

"  Well,  let  me  see  ;  it  is  about  eight  years — yes, 
in  '60." 

"  When  were  you  last  out  there  ?  " 

"  You  see,  Judge,"  and  the  hunter  hitched  uneasily 
on  his  chair,  "  I've  been  moving  about  in  that  direction 
every  year  since  my  first  visit,  but  sometimes  I  get 
farther  west,  and  sometimes  farther  south.  Now,  last 
year,  say  about  a  year  ago  now,  I  was  huntin'  'round 
north  of  where  I  live  on  the  Yadkin,  about  a  week's 
yourney." 


52  THE  LIFE  >\ND  TIMES  OF 

"  Is  that  as  far  north  as  you  have  penetrated  ?" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  should  think  it  was.  But,  Judge,  you 
know  I  am  no  scholar,  and  don't  keep  record  of  where 
I  go  any  more  than  blazing  the  trees  and  remembering 
how  long  it  takes  me,  and  that  ain't  very  close  reckon 
ing,  because  sometimes  I  camp  out  for  a  week  at  a 
time  when  the  venison  or  b'ars  are  thick,  an'  then  agin, 
I  push  straight  on  for  days  together." 

"  That's  near  enough  for  my  purpose,"  said  the  Judge, 
and  then  he  sat  in  silence  for  some  moments. 

The  secretary,  who  seemingly  had  no  idea  that  the 
questions  and  answers  respectively,  of  the  Judge  and 
his  pioneer  friend,  need  have  any  interest  for  him,  haa 
risen  from  his  seat  and  gone  for  amusement  to  the 
book-case.  Here  he  stood,  looking  along  the  shelves 
above  his  head,  apparently  seeking  some  special  volume, 
which  he  presently  discerned  with  the  quick  and  expe 
rienced  glance  of  a  bibliomaniac,  and  having  possessed 
himself  of  it,  seated  himself  and  proceeded  to  read,  ap 
parently  oblivious  of  all  about  him. 

The  Judge,  quite  accustomed  to  Rafe's  manner,  paid 
no  attention  to  him,  but  presently  moving  his  chair 
close  to  Boone's,  said 

"  How  long  will  it  taice  you  to  get  ready  and  arrange 
your  affairs  to  go  out  over  the  ground  you  have  already 
trod  and  beyond  it — to  move  right  into  the  wilderness 
I  mean,  perhaps  250  or  300  miles?" 

The  hunter  pondered  a  moment,  and  then  replied  : 

"  It  won't  take  me  long,  Judge,  to  make  my  prepara 
tions  for  going ;  but  you  see,  there'll  be  matters  to  be 


DANIEL  BOONE.  53 

looked  after  in  the  way  of  taking  care  of  my  old  woman 
and  the  little  folks  " 

"  If  you  go,  their  care  shall  be  my  charge,"  inter 
rupted  the  Judge.  "  You  need  not  let  their  condition 
occupy  your  mind." 

Boone  gave  him  a  quick  sharp  look,  while  he  heaved 
a  sigh,  as  though  he  had  unburdened  himself  of  some- 
thing  unwelcome  he  had  been  carrying. 

"  Well,  Judge,  that  being  settled,  though  I  don't 
know  your  meaning,  I  think  I  could  get  ready  and 
leave  in  three  weeks  or  a  month  at  furtherest,  after  I 
am  back  to  Yadkin." 

"  Can  you  find,"  said  the  Judge,  "  companions  who 
will  be  willing  to  go  with  you  ?  " 

The  hunter  paused  a  moment. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  presently.  "  There  are  a  few  men  up 
my  way  who  won't  object  to  go,  I  should  think.  One 
or  two  of  them  have  been  out  pretty  far,  already. 
There's  John  Finley,  for  instance,  and  Stuart  and  Cool 
— yes,  I  can  find  five  or  six  good  men  who  will  go — if 
it  is  made  to  their  advantage. 

"  You  see,  Judge,  they  ain't  like  me,  altogether,  to 
go  out  there  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,  or  with  my  idees 
of  what  is  coming  after,  and  what  it  is  all  for.  They 
want  to  have  something  in  hand  that  they  can  take 
hold  of — do  you  understand?1' 

"  That's  all  right,  Boone.  My  plan,  of  course,  in 
cludes  paying  liberally  for  the  hardships  and  toil  which 
must  necessarily  be  endured  by  those  who  undertake  to 
assist  me  in  forwarding  it. 


54  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  You  a:±d  your  companions  will  be  equally  entitled 
to  receive  a  fair  remuneration  for  your  services,  when 
the  time  comes  for  the  undertaking  I  have  in  hand. 
Meanwhile,  I  must  specially  request  that  you  keep  the 
matter  an  entire  secret  between  us.  My  secretary  is, 
of  course,  not  included  in  this  injunction,  as  he  will  be 
made  aware  of  every  step  in  the  future,  as  he  has  in 
the  past,  in  the  direction  toward  which  I  am  tending. 

"  At  the  present  instant,  it  is  only  necessary  for  us 
to  mutually  understand  that  you  are  ready,  or  will  be, 
whenever  called  upon,  to  make  such  an  excursion  as  I 
iave  indicated  ;  and  to  supply  yourself  with  such  men 
as  those  to  whom  you  have  alluded,  and  who  will  be 
ready  to  join  you.  And  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  sound  these  men  as  to  their  readiness 
to  go,  so  as  to  have  them  prepared  when  the  time 
comes. 

"  I  have  spoken  of  a  speedy  movement,  but  that 
was  more  to  find  out  how  long  it  would  take  you  to 
get  ready,  and  generally  to  inform  myself  as  to  youf 
condition,  in  regard  to  your  ties  of  family  and  business, 
than  because  I  necessarily  want  you  to  go  at  once. 

"  Delays  will  very  likely  occur  to  postpone  the  carry, 
ing  out  of  my  intentions  for  some  time,  but,  meanwhile 
I  shall  make  it  my  business  to  look  after  your  interests, 
and  anything  that  I  can  do  to  forward  them  will  be 
done  most  cheerfully." 

The  Judge  now  rose,  as  though  to  signify  that  the 
interview  was  concluded,  and  Boone  very  willingly  fol 
lowed  his  example.  In  fact,  the  hunter  was  quite  as 


DANIEL  BOONE.  55 

anxious,  as  he  had  signified,  to  proceed  on  his  journey 
homeward. 

Rafe  Slaughter  was  still  deeply  immersed  in  the  vol. 
ume  he  had  chosen.  Perceiving  a  movement,  he  now 
relinquished  his  employment,  and,  rising  from  his  seat, 
approached  the  table. 

"  Well,  Rafe,"  said  the  Judge,  pleasantly,  "  I  hope 
we  have  not  disturbed  your  studies  by  our  conversa 
tion." 

Not  in  the  least,  sir,"  replied  the  other ;  "  I  was  in 
terested  in  my  reading." 

The  Judge  now  ordered  up  Boone's  horse  ;  the  boy 
Jimmy  was  called  from  his  play,  and  presently  the 
members  of  the  family  assembled  on  the  piazza,  and 
bade  adieu  to  their  guest. 

Curiously  enough,  Boone  always  appeared  at  his  best 
on  such  an  occasion.  There  was  a  certain  simple  and 
untutored  dignity  about  the  man,  gained,  doubtless, 
through  his  association  with  nature  and  in  the  watch 
fulness  of  his  customary  life,  which  gave  him  a  most 
manly,  and,  one  might  say,  elevated  deportment,  in  the 
presence  of  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

After  a  hearty  and  genial  farewell,  he  mounted  his 
horse,  with  the  lad  before  him  on  the  saddle,  and,  in 
another  moment,  the  pair  had  started  on  their  long 
journey  homeward. 

No  sooner  was  the  clattering  of  the  hoofs  of  Boone's 
horse  silent  in  the  distance,  than  the  Judge,  giving  his 
secretary  a  sign,  returned  hastily  to  the  library. 


56  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  Rafe,"  he  said,  as  he  stepped  to  his  table  and  sat 
himself  before  it,  "  you  heard  our  conversation  ?" 

"  I  did,  sir,  every  word  of  it." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  man  ?  " 

"  He  is  honest,  fearless,  and  worthy  of  confidence,  of 
I  am  very  much  in  error." 

:  You  would  trust  him  with  this  affair,  would  you 
not  ?  "  continued  the  Judge. 

Rafe  hesitated  for  a  moment  before  he  replied. 

"  I  would  not  trust  him  nor  any  man,"  he  said  at 
length,  "  any  further  than  the  necessities  of  the  case 
required.  Freedom  of  confidence  beyond  that  point 
always  appears  to  me  foolishness." 

"  According  to  that,  Mr.  Rafe  Slaughter,  I  must  seem 
to  you  a  very  silly  man,"  said  the  Judge,  with  a  shrewd 
twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

The  secretary  came  as  near  smiling  at  this  sudden 
turn  of  the  affair  by  his  employer,  as  it  was  possible  for 
him  to  do  with  the  material  at  hand.  He  was,  how 
ever,  quite  equal  to  the  occasion  ;  indeed,  these  pas 
sages  of  wit  were  not  infrequent  between  them,  and 
the  Judge  generally  found  that  his  secretary  could  quite 
hold  his  own  in  the  course  of  them. 

"  I  don't  admit  the  application,  Judge.  I  won't  offer 
so  lame  an  explanation  as  that  the  cases  are  totally  dif 
ferent,  but  I  will  remark  that,  in  the  nature  of  our  inti 
mate  association — for  which  I  never  can  cease  to  be 
grateful  to  you — there  is  very  little  in  the  way  of  secrets 
that  you  communicate  to  me,  that  I  should  not  be  apt 
to  find  out  myself." 


DANIEL  BOONE.  57 

The  Judge  laughed  aloud  at  this.  "  Well,  Rafe,  you 
are  a  cool  one,  I  will  say." 

The  secretary  only  bowed,  and  the  Judge  continued  . 
"  I  want  you  to  go  at  once  to  John  Williams  and  Leon, 
ard  Bullock,  and  ask  them  to  meet  me  here  this  after 
noon  for  conference.  Write,  also,  to  William  Johnston, 
Thomas  Hogg,  Thomas  Hart,  John  Lutterell,  Nathan 
iel  Hart,  and  David  Hart,  and  beg  them  to  make  what 
speed  they  can  to  meet  us  all  at  my  house  at  an  early 
day." 

"  Shall  I  explain  any  occasion  for  the  meeting,  either 
in  the  notes  or  in  my  personal  interviews  ?  " 

"  No,  you  need  not,  they'll  sufficiently  understand." 

The  secretary  left  the  room  to  visit  the  two  gentle 
men  named,  who  resided  in  Granville,  and  to  write  to 
the  others,  and  the  Judge  departed  to  examine  into  the 
conduct  of  the  farm  and  consult  with  his  overseers. 

In  the  afternoon  Rafe  returned  with  Williams  and 
Bullock,  and  a  conference  was  held,  the  secretary  being 
present,  the  nature  of  which  it  is  unnecessary  to  dis 
close  at  the  present  juncture.  Notes  had  been  written 
during  the  interval  to  the  other  parties  whom  the  Judge 
had  named,  and  these  were  sent  by  special  messenger 
to  Orange  County,  where  they  all  resided.  Some  days 
elapsed  before  these  missives  were  heard  from,  and  it 
was  late  in  the  following  week  when  they  all  appeared 
in  answer  to  the  invitations  which  they  had  severally 
received. 

The  meeting  took  place,  and  was  a  lengthy  one,  there 
present  besides  the  new-comers,  the  two  who  had 
3* 


jg         LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  DANIEL  BOONE. 

already  conferred  with  the  Judge — Williams  and  Bu* 
lock — and  the  secretary,  making  ten  in  all. 

On  concluding  their  conference,  apparently  with  a 
satisfactory  agreement  among  themselves,  judging  from 
their  manner,  the  gentlemen  departed  to  their  several 
homes,  and  Judge  Anderson  was  left  alone  with  his  fam 
ily  again.  For  several  hours  after  the  departure  of  his 
guests,  he  was  closeted  with  his  secretary,  who  was 
busily  engaged  in  writing  from  his  dictation,  the  sit 
ting  lasting  into  the  night. 

On  the  following  morning  Rafe  Slaughter  started 
on  horseback,  at  an  early  hour,  apparently  for  a  long 
journey.  His  saddle-bags  were  well  filled,  a  rifle  was 
strapped  across  his  shoulders,  and  a  pair  of  horse-pis 
tols  could  be  seen  projecting  from  his  holsters.  Thus 
armed  and  equipped,  his  short  legs  high  in  the  stirrups, 
and  his  long  arms  dangling  and  brandishing  in  the 
air  with  the  movement  of  his  steed,  the  secretary  rode 
hurriedly  in  a  westerly  direction. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Ho*  Daniel  Boone  falls  in  with  one  of  the  Regulators,  and  wkat  happ**u. 
Disclosing,  moreover,  the  fact  that  there  is  nothing  so  easy  as  to  overvalue 
the  weight  of  words. 

IT  was  nearing  sunset  on  the  second  day  from  that 
of  the  hunter's  departure  from  Granville,  when  Boone 
and  his  young  son,  still  riding  as  before,  were  slowly 
climbing  a  heavily-wooded  hill,  where  the  bridle-path 
was  narrow  and  closely  overhung  by  the  branches  of 
the  forest  trees  that  skirted  its  sides. 

The  hunter  had  kept  a  south-westerly  direction  for 
the  first  day,  but  had  then  changed  his  course,  follow 
ing  roads  with  which  he  was  apparently  familiar,  and 
which  led  more  northward  through  Orange  County, 
thus  enabling  him  to  leave,  at  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
miles  distance  to  the  south,  the  town  of  Hillsborough, 
a  place  which  he  did  not  seem  in  the  least  inclined 
to  revisit. 

The  horse  was  tired  and  the  boy  sleepy,  and  as  the 
evening  gloom  came  down,  Boone  hastened  his  steed, 
hoping  to  reach  some  farm-house,  where  he  could 
lodge  for  the  night. 

Although  the  hunter  knew  that  the  section  through 
which  he  was  traveling  was  in  the  very  thickest  of  the 

(59) 


60  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

district  infested  by  the  Regulators,  he  depended  on  the 
fact  that  he  was  but  little  acquainted  with  the  inhab 
itants,  for  carrying  him  through  without  question. 

It  had  become  so  dark  that  it  was  difficult  to  see  the 
road  or  path  before  them,  when  a  light  appeared  on 
tlii  right,  and  close  at  hand. 

A  few  moments  brought  the  horse  in  front  of  a  farm 
house  built  of  logs,  as  was  usual  in  this  part  of  North 
Carolina,  and  presently  the  tramping  of  the  horse  s  feet 
having  disturbed  the  inmates,  a  man's  voice  was  heard 
loudly  hallooing,  "  Who's  there  ?  " 

Boone  reined  up  at  once,  and  answered,  "  A  friend. 

In  those  days,  and  in  those  parts,  it  was  not  well  to 
move  on  without  responding  to  a  salutation.  One  was 
not  unlikely  to  hear  a  rifle  bullet  whistle  over  his  head 
as  a  warning  not  to  come  nearer,  unless  his  intentions 
were  friendly. 

The  man  who  had  called  out  soon  appeared  at  the 
door  of  his  cabin,  having  returned  for  a  lantern,  which 
he  now  held  above  his  head,  the  light  exhibiting  a 
face  unfamiliar  to  the  hunter. 

"  Can  you  give  my  boy  and  me  lodging  for  the  night 
and  a  bite  to  eat,  and  my  horse  a  bit  of  provender  ?  " 

The  man  with  the  lantern  stepped  down,  and  ap- 
proached  near  enough  to  see  from  whom  the  request 
emanated.  Scanning  the  rider  carefully,  he  appeared 
satisfied  with  what  he  saw. 

"  Alight,  stranger,  you  shall  have  the  best  I  have 
got,  and  your  horse  shall  not  go  unfed.  It  is  little  we 
have  in  these  days  at  the  best,"  he  continued,  as  Boone 


DANIEL  BOONE.  6l 

dropped  his  son  lightly  to  the  ground,  and  in  a  moment 
stood  beside  him,  holding  his  horse  by  the  bridle. 

"  Between  the  poor  crops  last-year,  and  the  thieving 
that  went  on  all  winter,  there's  not  much  left  to  us." 

As  he  said  these  words,  the  speaker  threw  the  light 
of  his  lantern  full  in  Boone's  face,  which  he  seemed  tc 
be  studying  carefully. 

"  I  have  heard  before,  it  was  bad  times  in  these 
parts,"  replied  the  latter,  "  and  it  is  not  my  meaning 
to  ask  anything  of  you  that  I  can't  pay  for,  tho'  I  am 
not  much  given  to  having  money  with  me." 

The  other  replied  shortly :  "  Oh  !  I  do  not  mind  a 
meal  and  a  night's  lodging  to  a  decent  traveler — I  was 
not  thinking  of  that — let  me  have  your  horse,  and  you 
and  the  boy  step  inside.  My  old  woman  is  in  there, 
and  she  will  give  you  a  decent  welcome,  I  dare  say." 

Taking  the  bridle  from  Boone's  hand,  he  proceeded 
toward  the  rear  of  the  cabin,  while  the  hunter  and  his 
son  stepped  over  the  rude  log  that  formed  the  door- 
sill,  and  entered  the  cabin,  where  both  were  pleasantly 
greeted  by  a  bright,  active-looking  woman  of  middle 
age,  who  was  engaged  in  .getting  supper.  In  this  proc 
ess  she  was  assisted  by  a  girl  some  twelve  or  thirteen 
years  old,  while  two  or  three  younger  children  played 
about  on  the  floor  of  the  cabin. 

The  dwelling  was  one  of  the  customary  sort  occupied 
by  new  settlers,  this  part  of  Orange  County  being  quite 
distant  from  any  town  or  settlement. 

There  were  three  rooms,  the  cabin  being  divided  in 
the  middle  by  a  rough  partition  of  boards,  hewn  froir 


62  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

pine  logs.  The  room  in  which  the  hunter  found  him. 
self  was  therefore  exactly  half  the  cabin.  At  one  end 
a  big  wood  fire  blazed  up  the  chimney,  which  was  built 
on  the  outside  of  the  cabin,  as  was  customary.  This 
room  was  apparently  the  kitchen,  eating  and  general 
sitting-room  of  the  family,  and  a  rude  table,  and  a 
feAV  stools,  with  a  rack  for  the  simple  service  necessary 
to  their  meals,  constituted  the  furniture  of  the  place. 

The  back  room,  divided  in  two,  supplied  the  bed 
rooms  of  the  family.  The  out-houses  were  as  rude  and 
plain,  as  would  naturally  be  the  case  with  the  dwelling 
described. 

Boone  sat  down,  on  being  invited  by  his  hostess,  and 
the  boy  Jimmy  speedily  made  friends  with  the  chil 
dren  of  the  household. 

A  few  questions  and  answers  passed  back  and  forth, 
but  Boone  was  always  taciturn,  except  when  among 
his  intimate  associates,  and  the  farmer's  wife  was  not 
much  more  inclined  for  conversation,  besides  being  en 
gaged  in  preparation  for  supper. 

In  a  few  moments  the  farmer  entered  and  announced 
that  the  horse  was  feeding,  and  properly  sheltered. 
Seating  himself,  Boone's  new  host  gave  an  opportunity 
for  the  examination  of  his  appearance,  of  which  the 
hunter,  though  not  usually  inspired  by  curiosity,  had 
no  hesitation  in  taking  advantage. 

The  examination  was  not  altogethei  unsatisfactory, 
although  the  look  of  the  man  was  not  calculated  to 
inspire  immediate  confidence. 

He  was  short,  bronzed  with  open-air  employment, 


DANIEL  SOONE.  63 

his  hands  toughened  by  toil — with  short  curling  hair, 
turned  prematurely  gray  by  exposure  to  the  elements  : 
and  round-shouldered  by  stooping,  an  action  customary 
to  the  farmer  and  the  sailor — his  face  appeared  a  mixt 
ure  of  openness  and  concealment,  in  which  one  of  these 
characteristics  seemed  always  striving  with  the  other 
for  supremacy. 

One  was  at  one  moment  favorably  impressed,  at  the 
next  repelled  ;  and  no  sooner  had  the  hunter  made  up 
his  mind  that  his  host  was  a  simple,  social,  hospitable 
fellow,  and  be  inclined  to  converse  freely  with  him,  than 
a  change  of  expression  would  alter  his  opinion,  and  he 
would  shield  himself  beneath  his  customary  reticence. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  after  listening  for  a  few  min 
utes  to  talk  about  the  crops,  and  as  they  were  sitting 
down  to  table,  "  what  might  your  name  be,  friend  ?" 

The  other  looked  at  him  sharply,  and  replied  at  oncv  : 
"  Howell  is  my  name,  and  I  might  as  well  ask  the  same 
question." 

"  Oh,  sartin  ! "  said  the  hunter.  "  My  name  is  Boone, 
Daniel  Boone  of  Yadkin." 

Howell  had  begun  to  cut  the  pork,  wh'ich  was  before 
him,  and  which  served  as  the  staple  article  for  supper, 
but,  as  he  heard  the  name  of  his  guest,  he  stopped 
short,  and  for  a  moment  seemed  as  though  he  would 
drop  his  knife. 

The  sharp  eyes  of  the  pioneer  did  not  fail  to  notice 
the  action,  but  he  said  nothing,  only  regarding  him 
steadily ;  the  other  speedily  recovered  himself,  and  re 
peated  after  him  :  "  Daniel  Boone ! "  He  was  on  the 


64  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

point  of  making  an  observation — thought  better  of  it- 
swallowed  it,  and  turned  himself  to  cutting  the  pork, 
his  mind  apparently  concentrated  on  seeing  that  his 
visitor  should  be  well  served. 

As  we  have  already  remarked,  Boone  did  not  fail  to 
observe  the  manner  of  his  host,  and  kept  a  watchful 
eye  upon  him  from  that  moment  forward. 

This  course  presently  caused  the  interception  of  a 
quick  glance  which  passed  between  Ho  well  and  his 
wife,  and  which  neither  supposed  to  have  been  seen  by 
the  pioneer. 

Having  served  his  guests  and  the  family  and  recov 
ered  himself  from  whatever  had  affected  him  on  hear 
ing  Boone's  name,  Howell  became  talkative  again, 
seeking  to  engage  the  other  in  conversation  on  the 
state  of  the  times,  and  apparently  desiring  to  dravf 
from  him  some  expression  of  opinion  on  this  particular 
subject. 

Boone,  however,  was  wary,  employing  in  his  behalf, 
perhaps,  the  cunning  which  he  had  learned  in  wood 
craft  and  association  with  the  Indians. 

He  was,  in  fact,  desirous  to  keep  out  of  the  questions 
which  occupied  the  public  mind  of  this  part  of  North 
Carolina,  and  did  not  mean,  unless  driven  to  the  wall, 
to  commit  himself  to  any  course,  either  of  judgment  01 
action. 

Rednap  Howell,  however,  his  new  acquaintance,  was 
a  shrewd  fellow,  and,  as  it  happened,  vitally  interested 
in  the  movements  of  the  Regulators.  Ha  had  heard  of 
Boone,  whose  name  was  indeed  pretty  generally  known 


DANIEL  BOONh.  65 

with  that  of  Finlay,  Harrod,  Burke,  and  others  of  the 
more  adventurous  and  advanced  pioneers ;  though 
Boone  himself  was  one  of  the  younger  and  at  that  time 
less  experienced  of  these  men. 

It  will  be  readily  understood  by  the  reader,  that  for 
such  a  movement  as  was  contemplated  and  in  hand  on 
the  part  of  the  Regulators,  it  was  eminently  desirable 
that  such  active  and  fearless  men  as  Boone  should  be 
gained  as  adherents. 

News  of  the  Hillsborough  riot  had,  of  course,  reach 
ed  Howell,  who  was  one  of  the  leaders  in  the  general 
movement,  although  he  happened  not  to  be  present  on 
that  occasion.  He  perfectly  well  knew  of  Boone's  con 
nection  with  the  affair,  but  neither  he  nor  the  othei 
eaders  had  yet  concluded  as  to  the  position  the  pioneei 
would  eventually  take. 

This  being  the  case  his  efforts  to  draw  Boone  into  a 
statement  or  admission  which  could  be  used  to  impli 
cate  him,  will  be  at  once  admitted  to  be  a  suitable 
course  of  conduct  on  the  part  of  Howell. 

Boone's  general  reputation  was  based  purely  upon 
his  roaming  life ;  and  while  he  was  known  to  be  fearless 
and  energetic  in  the  pursuit  of  game,  and  courageous 
where  Indians  were  in  question,  he  was  generally  con 
sidered  to  be  unacquainted  with  and  unversed  in  the 
ways  of  the  white  man  and  the  tricks  and  turns  cus 
tomary  to  society. 

The  conspirators  already  believed,  and  Howell  espec 
ially,  that  either  by  threats  or  cajolement  the  pioneei 
could  be  induced  to  cast  his  lot  with  them. 


66  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Howell,  therefore,  thanked  fortune  inwardly  for  the 
chance  that  had  thrust  so  important  an  instrument  in 
his  way,  and  determined  that  no  effort  should  be  lost 
or.  his  part  to  inveigle  Boone  into  implication  with  the 
designs  of  himself  and  his  coadjutors. 

But,  as  will  perhaps  have  been  perceived  already, 
Boone's  general  reputation,  excepting  so  far  as  concerned 
his  special  vocation  in  life,  was  a  very  misguiding  one. 

The  pioneer,  though  rough  and  untutored  in  the 
ordinary  ways  of  men,  and,  moreover,  uneducated  to 
any  such  extent  as  would  fit  him  for  social  or  official 
position,  was,  nevertheless,  a  man  of  strong  mind  and 
clear  natural  insight,  which  qualities  easily  prepared 
him  to  meet  any  question  which  might  come  in  his 
way.  Suspicious  also,  if  not  by  nature,  by  the  constant 
flabits  of  his  life,  his  first  impressions  of  men  would  not 
be  in  their  favor.  It  would,  indeed,  take  much  longer 
for  a  man  to  ingratiate  himself  with  such  a  character 
as  Daniel  Boone  than  with  one  more  familiar  with  men, 
and  more  accustomed  to  their  methods. 

In  the  present  instance  Boone's  natural  suspicion  was 
peculiarly  on  the  alert  from  the  danger  that  he  felt  sur 
rounded  him,  so  long  as  he  was  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood  of  the  Hillsborough  difficulty. 

He  had  not  scanned  Howell's  face  for  nothing,  nor 
had  he  watched  his  manner  and  mode  of  conducting 
himself  without  forming  a  pretty  shrewd  judgment  aa 
to  the  nature  of  the  man.  He  was,  therefore,  quite 
well  prepared  to  answer  any  questions  that  might  be 
put  to  him,  and  at  the  same  time  determined  not  to 


DANIEL  BOONE.  67 

fommit  himself  against  the  interests  which  ne  believed 
were  those  of  his  friend  Judge  Anderson. 

Supper  being  over,  and  Howell's  wife  engaged  in 
clearing  off  the  table  and  attending  to  her  domestic 
duties,  the  two  men  drew  stools  to  the  fire  and  sat 
down.  Howell  filled  his  pipe  and  offered  the  same 
luxury  to  his  guest,  which  was,  however,  refused. 

"You  don't  smoke?"  said  Howell. 

"  No,  I  never  1'arned,  and  it  ain't  much  use  of  my  doin' 
it  now.  In  the  woods,  the  smoke  of  a  pipe  as  well  as 
the  light  may  often  carry  information  you  don't  want 
•sent  to  people  you  don't  want  to  get  it." 

"  It's  a  great  comforter,"  said  the  other. 

"  Very  likely,"  responded  Boone,  "  and  I  am  glad  to 
see  others  enjoy  it,  and  I've  nothin*  to  say  agin  it  as  to 
them." 

"Tobacco  is  awfully  dear,  these  times,"  continued 
Howell  as  he  puffed  the  smoke  luxuriously  in  the  air. 

"  Then  I  wouldn't  smoke,"  said  Boone,  senten- 
tiously. 

The  other  stared  at  him  before  making  any  comment 
on  this  observation.  Presently  he  continued  : 

"  Tobacco  is  awfully  dear,  but  it  ain't  any  worse  than 
anything  else.  What  the  frosts  and  floods  spares,  the 
tax-gatherer  eats  up,  and  between  the  two  we're  pretty 
nigh  starved." 

"  You  look  well  fed,  my  friend,"  remarked  Boone. 

Howell  grunted  in  dissent  to  this. 

"  Well,  when  I  say  starved,  I  don't  mean  to  be  taken 
that  way  exactly.  Of  course  I  get  enough  to  eat. 


68  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OP 

The  trouble  is  it  costs  mor'n  it  ought  ter,  and  we'ra 
kept  forever  in  debt,  and  can't  lay  up  nothin'.  Don't 
you  find  it  so  up  your  way  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,  not  exactly,"  replied  Boone.  "  We  have 
our  ups  and  downs.  As  for  me,  I  don't  take  much  in- 
terest  in  the  farming,  except  now  and  then,  but  my 
wife  is  pretty  forehanded,  and  a  good  manager,  and  my 
father's  thare,  an'  my  brothers,  an'  the  boys  are  growin' 
up,  an*  bein'  of  some  use,  and  I  believe  we  manage  to 
get  up  as  good  crops  as  our  neighbors,  and  they  don't 
complain." 

"  Well,  it's  different  down  in  your  section.  You  see, 
you're  so  far  from  the  seat  of  government  that  it  costs 
more  for  the  tax-collectors  and  sheriffs  and  them  to  go 
out  and  rob  you  than  it  would  come  to,  and  so  I  expect 
that's  the  reason  why  you  get  on  better'n  we  do. 

"  But  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Boone,  it's  the  truth  I'm 
tellin'  you,  that  we're  awfully  pressed  down  here  and 
don't  get  our  rights  nohow,  and  there  are  a  good  many 
of  my  way  of  thinkin',  and  that  little  matter  over  at 
Hillsborough," — and  here  Howell  took  his  pipe  out  of 
his  mouth  and  pointed  it  at  Boone,  while  he  looked 
him  earnestly  in  the  face, — "  that  little  matter  over  at 
Hillsborough  is  only  a  beginning.  I  know  you  was 
into  it,  and  I  know  the  part  you  took  into  it,  and  I  ain't 
afraid  to  speak  to  you  about  it.  You've  got  the  repute . 
of  being  a  straightforward  kind  of  man,  and  I  don't 
believe  that  whatever  your  opinions  might  be,  that 
you're  the  kind  to  turn  informer,  or  put  any  of  us  into 
trouble." 


DANIEL  BOONE.  69 

Here  he  knocked  the  ashes  out  f  his  pipe  on  the 
hearth,  and  settled  himself  to  see  what  would  come 
from  these  remarks. 

Boone  had  never  moved  a  muscle  of  his  face,  while 
staring  at  the  other,  evidently  fully  understanding  the 
nature  of  all  he  was  saying.  He  did  not  reply  for  a 
moment,  and  when  he  did,  it  was  in  his  usual  calm  and 
deliberate  fashion. 

"  If  you  know  about  what  happened  at  Hillsborough, 
there's  no  use  o*  my  tellin'  you  ;  an'  if  you  know  it 
right,  you  must  know  that  I  was  not  to  blame  for  the 
part  I  had  in  it,  which  was  only  to  protect  that  boy  of 
mine  from  harm  at  the  hands  of  a  strong  man,  who 
ought  to  have  treated  him  more  tenderly." 

"  Oh,  you're  right  there,"  said  the  other,  "  and  that 
old  scoundrel  of  a  Scotchman  didn't  get  more'n  he 
deserved.  If  I'd  been  there,  and  I  think  I'm  sorry  I 
wasn't,  I'd  have  been  tempted  to  settle  him  on  the 
spot,  or  my  name  isn't .  Rednap  Howell.  But  what  I 
can't  onderstand,  Boone,  about  you  is,  why  you  cut 
down  that  cussed  Sheriff  that  everybody  hates,  who 
never  did  a  good  turn  in  his  life  for  any  one,  and  who 
ought  to  have  been  hung  up  years  ago." 

Boone's  eyes  twinkled,  and  he  answered  this  chal 
lenge  on  the  instant. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Howell,  what  was  going  on  among 
your  people  down  there  was  none  of  my  business,  but 
this  you  speak  of  was  right  in  my  line." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  the  other. 

"  Why,  shootin'.    I'm  used  to  taking  a  good  shot  when 


70  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

I  find  it,  whether  it's  peeling  the  scalp  off  a  squirrel  at 
the  top  of  a  pine  tree,  or  puttin'  a  ball  through  an  Injun, 
if  I  ketch  him  my  side  of  any  tree.  When  I  saw  that 
rope  with  a  man  dangling  onto  the  end  of  it,  I  couldn't 
resist  the  temptation,  as  you  say,  of  cutting  it ;  and  if 
I  do  say  it,  it  was  as  pretty  a  shot  as  I  ever  made  in 
my  life." 

Ho  well  looked  at  him  sharply,  to  see  if  he  really 
meant  what  he  said,  but  it  would  have  taken  a  very 
much  keener  eye  than  his  to  have  detected  the  thoughts 
of  the  pioneer.  He  finally  concluded  to  accept  the  ex 
planation  given,  but  at  the  same  time  was  shrewd 
enough  to  turn  it  to  his  own  advantage. 

"  I  can  onderstand  that  feeling,  Boone.  I  ain't  much 
of  a  shot  myself,  though  I  can  knock  over  a  buck  at  a 
hundred  paces  with  my  old  brown  Bess  ;  and  have  seen 
the  time  when  I've  done  that  squirrel-trick  you  tell  of, 
and  I  don't  know  but  your  temptation  ought  to  ex 
plain  your  conduct.  But  if  that's  so,  and  you  ain't 
got  any  feelin's  in  favor  of  the  Sheriff  and  his  kind, 
why,  it  follows  you  ain't  got  any  objections  to  jining 
us ;  and  when  I  say  us,  you  see  I  put  myself  in  your 
power,  because  you  know  just  what  that  means  without 
my  tellin'  you." 

Boone  saw  the  trap,  and  had  indeed  seen  it  when  he 
made  the  remark  which  developed  it. 

He  knew  enough  of  the  character  of  the  men  repre 
sented  by  the  one  with  whom  he  was  conversing,  to 
see  that  it  would  not  answer  for  him  to  be  put  in  the 
wrong  at  this  juncture^. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  71 

"  I've  got  no  call,"  he  said,  presently,  "  to  interfere 
in  your  local  fights.  I  don't  live  here,  and  my  inter, 
ests,  such  as  they  are,  are  a  long  ways  from  here.  I  air. 
on  my  way  home,  and  there's  no  telling  where  I  may 
be  this  time  thirty  days ;  but  while  I  don't  mean  to 
mix  in  other  people's  quarrels,  I  am  free  to  say  that  I'm 
not  goin'  to  turn  informer,  as  you  put  it,  even  if  I 
knew  anything  about  the  matter,  which  I  don't." 

"  That's  no  more'n  I'd  expect  from  a  man  of  your 
kind.  But  you  say  that  you've  no  interests  in  these 
parts,  and  you  live  a  long  ways  from  here,  and  you 
don't  want  to  mix  with  local  quarrels. 

"  Now,  I  ain't  gainsaying  that.  You  know  your  owe 
matters  better'n  I  do,  but  I  can  tell  you,  Daniel  Boone, 
this  here  thing  ain't  goin'  to  stop  till  the  whole  country 
is  roused  up  to  it.  Already,  not  this  county  alone,  nor 
Granville,  but  half  the  Colony  is  into  it,  an'  that's  get- 
tin'  pretty  near  Yadkin,  where  you  are. 

"  Before  this  time  thirty  days  they'll  be  talking  of 
this  thing  up  your  way,  and  when  the  fight  comes  your 
people  ain't  going  to  let  us  be  put  down,  or  I  don't 
know  the  kind  of  men  you're  a  specimen  of. 

"  Now,  I'm  thinkin'  'twill  be  better  for  you  to  be  in 
at  the  first,  and  take  hands  with  us  while  there's  some 
danger  in  it,  than  to  wait  till  we've  fought  the  fight 
an'  won  the  victory,  and  be  left  out  then  to  be  pointed 
at.  You  ain't  the  kind  of  man  to  like  that." 

Boone  flushed  slightly  at  these  words.  He  was  a 
man  equally  courageous  in  thought  and  in  action. 
TJ;e  picture  of  hiiri^rlf  «n  a  cowardly  attitude  was  not 


72  THE  LIFE  AND   TIMES  OF 

palatable.  Still  he  remembered  Judge  Anderson,  and 
measured  his  words. 

"  Before  thirty  days  are  over,"  he  said,  "  I  may  be 
hundreds  of  miles  from  here,  where  your  doings  won't 
reach  me,  and  I  mayn't  return  for  a  twelvemonth,  or 
two  of  'em.  You  see  I've  made  one  journey  of  two 
years,  and  I  may  make  another.  What  'd  be  the  use  to 
you  or  to  me  of  my  mixing  myself  with  something  I 
couldn't  carry  out  ?  " 

"  You're  really  going  away,  then,  are  you  ? "  said 
Howell. 

"  That's  what  I'm  expectin'." 

"  An*  you'll  be  gone  a  year  or  two  ?  " 

"  I  may." 

"  You  and  Judge  Anderson  are  pretty  thick  togeth 
er,"  continued  Howell,  slyly. 

"  We  were  born  in  the  same  year,  and  he  and  my 
father  were  friends  before  we  came  to  Carolina." 

"  Well,  you're  pretty  good  friends  anyway." 

"  I  like  the  Judge,  and  I  guess  the  Judge  don't  dis 
like  me.  We  don't  see  each  other  often." 

"  It  was  kind  of  curious  your  being  down  at  Hills- 
borough  just  then,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  no.  You  see  my  old  woman  has  got  some 
relations  in  Orange,  and  I  come  down  to  see  them,  and 
Hillsborough  bein'  near  by,  I  thought  I'd  take  it  in  my 
way." 

"  And  then  you  thought  you'd  go  off  with  Judge  An- 
derson  to  Granville,  which  was  not  in  your  way?  " 

0  Well,  you  see,  the  Judge  and  I,  bein'  old  friends, 


DANIEL  BOONE. 


73 


an'  he  bein'  there,  when  he  asked  me  to  come  and  pay 
him  a  visit,  I  couldn't  well,  refuse,  as  I'd  plenty  of  time 
Particularly,"  he  added,  "  after  he  had  helped  me  out 
of  my  trouble  with  the  Scotchman." 

Tin's  was  not  exactly  the  fact,  but  it  was  a  quick 
thought  of  Boone's,  and  it  did  him  good  service.  Up 
to  this  point  Howell  had  had  the  best  of  the  argu 
ment,  but  this  idea  threw  a  new  color  on  Boone's  posi 
tion,  and  the  Regulator  was  not  unwilling  to  accept  it. 

He  had  learned  all  he  could  expect  to  know  of 
Boone's  designs,  and  the  conversation  left  him,  fortu 
nately  for  the  other,  of  the  opinion  with  which  he 
started — that  Boone  had  no  predilections  for  or  against 
the  Regulators ;  that  he  certainly  would  not  do  any 
thing  to  injure  them  ;  and  that  if  the  time  ever  came 
when  he  would  be  forced  to  take  sides  one  way  or  the 
other,  it  was  at  least  an  even  chance  that  he  would  go 
with  them. 

It  was  now  growing  late,  and  when  Boonc  suggested 
that  he  was  fatigued  and  would  like  to  retire,  the  other 
made  no  objections,  but  showed  him  to  one  of  the 
rooms  behind  the  one  in  which  they  were  sitting,  and 
where  little  Jimmy  was  already  in  bed  and  asleep.  It 
did  not  take  the  hunter  long  to  follow  his  example  ; 
and  though  he  could  hear  the  voices  of  Howell  and  his 
wife  in  earnest  conversation  on  the  other  side  of  the 
partition,  he  could  not  hear  their  words,  and  deep  sleep 
soon  overpowered  him. 

On  the  following  morning  Boone  was  up  at  day. 
break,  but  found  that  Howell  and  his  wife  had  pre- 
4 


74         LI'FE  AND  TIMES  OF  DANIEL  BOCNE. 

ceded  him,  and  that  preparations  were  already  far  ad 
vanced  for  breakfast.  Having  partaken  of  this  meal, 
which  consisted  of  bacon  and  corn  dodgers,  washed  down 
with  cool  spring  water,  the  hunter  mounted  his  horse, 
and,  having  first  insisted  on  his  host  receiving  a  fait 
sum  in  compensation  for  his  hospitality,  he  bade  the 
family  a  hearty  farewell,  and  resumed  his  journey. 

No  sooner  were  the  hunter  and  his  son  fairly  out  of 
sight  and  hearing,  than  Howell,  who  had  stood  with 
his  wife  and  children  watching  them  ride  away,  said 
hurriedly : 

"  Mary,  I'm  goin'  to  see  Roberts." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  see  him  for  ?" 

"  Well,  I  ain't  altogether  satisfied  with  the  way  that 
man  talked  last  night.  He  spoke  glib  enough,  but  now 
that  the  words  are  cold  they  don't  exactly  seem  to  suit 
me  as  well  as  they  did  then.  Anyhow,  I'm  goin'.  I'll 
tell  Roberts  and  the  rest,  and  they  can  take  the  respon 
sibility,  and  I'll  just  saddle  my  horse,  and  go  while  the 
fever's  on." 

This  was  no  sooner  said  than  done,  and  in  fifteen 
minutes,  Howell,  mounted  on  a  rough-looking,  but  fast 
horse,  was  galloping  in  the  opposite  direction  to  that 
taken  by  the  hunter,  and  on  his  way  to  Hillsborough, 
in  which  town  resided  Roberts,  engaged  in  conducting 
the  general  practice  of  law,  besides  being  the  chief  per 
sonage  among  the  Regulators. 


CHAPTER  V. 

In  which  the  Reader  is  introduced  to  the  hero  and  heroine  of  this  story— «« 
well  as  to  some  other  important  personages. 

IN  what  is  now  the  county  of  Guilford,  North  Caro 
lina,  and  at  a  point  about  sixty  miles  west  from  the 
residence  of  Judge  Anderson  in  Granville,  there  stood, 
at  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing,  on  an  eminence 
overlooking  a  considerable  valley  spread  out  at  its  feet, 
a  fine  mansion  of  more  massive  structure  and  broader 
proportions  than  was  usual  in  those  days. 

The  tendency  of  immigration  into  North  Carolina 
had  been  rather  to  the  west  than  nearer  the  seaboard 
up  to  this  time,  and  there  a  more  considerable  popula 
tion  had  settled  than  would  otherwise  have  been  the 
case,  owing  to  the  fact  that  grants  of  land  made  orig 
inally  by  the  proprietors  of  the  Carolinas,  and  afterward 
conceded  by  the  Crown  on  the  purchase  of  the  country 
from  them,  had  been  offered  and  made  on  much  more 
liberal  terms  and  at  far  lower  rates  than  was  the  case 
with  the  lands  farther  east. 

The  Carolinas  had  been  settled  very  largely  by  the 
Irish  and  Scotch,  drawn  thither  by  the  opportunity  of 
fered  of  obtaining  land  at  such  remarkably  low  prices. 

Among  the  latter  people  were  not  a  few  of  the  best 
gentry  of  Ireland.  Men  who,  for  one  reason  or  anothel 

(75) 


LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

—from  a  roving  disposition — and  this  was  particular!) 
so 'in  the  case  of  young  men  coming  into  their  property 
from  a  love  of  adventure,  as  to  which  no  country  prom, 
ised  fairer  than  the  American  Colonies ;  or,  from  dis- 
taste  for  the  social  institutions  of  their  native  land  and 
a  desire  for  change  and  variety. 

It  was  perhaps  in  some  degree  due  to  all  of  these 
reasons  put  together,  that  Squire  Hugh  O'Brien,  of  a 
well-born  and  well-to-do  Irish  family,  had  emigrated 
some  ten  years  before  the  period  of  our  story,  and  had 
settled,  with  his  belongings,  at  the  locality  to  which  we 
are  now  about  to  direct  the  attention  of  the  reader. 

The  Squire  had  come  into  his  father's  property  only 
a  year  prior  to  his  emigration,  a  course  upon  which  he 
had  determined  some  time  before  the  death  of  the  old 
Squire  had  made  it  feasible. 

He  was  at  this  time  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  about 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  educated  at  Trinity  College, 
had  been  accustomed  to  the  best  resources  of  Dublin 
as  to  society,  and  for  whom  foreign  travel  had  done  all 
that  was  essential  or  possible  in  the  adding  of  culture 
and  refinement  to  a  nature  well  born  and  bred,  and 
fully  susceptible  of  assuming  these  qualities. 

His  family  consisted  of  his  wife — who  was  the  daugh 
ter  of  an  Irish  Earl,  and  who  had  passed  several  seasons 
in  London,  and  been  presented  at  Court ;  a  daughter, 
at  the  time  of  their  removal  to  the  Colonies,  not  yet  in 
her  teens;  and  a  son,  a  bright  boy  of  about  seven  years. 

The  Squire  having  twrned  so  much  of  his  paternal 
as  was  under  his  control  into  money,  had  in* 


DANIEL  BOONS.  7; 

Vested  a  portion  of  this  in  a  large  property,  com  isting 
at  the  time  of  wood  land,  well  watered  ;  tins  investment 
leaving  him,  however,  with  a  handsome  sum  in  British 
consols,  then  just  organized  under  the  act  of  1757,  and 
already  a  favorite  security  for  investment  throughout 
ths  British  Islands. 

The  lands  which  had  been  purchased  by  Squire 
O'Brien  had  been  carefully  examined  and  surveyed  by 
his  agents  before  buying,  and  consisting  of  many  hun 
dred  acres,  formed  an  estate  which,  under  proper  treat 
ment,  could  hardly  fail  to  become  of  great  value. 

This  prospective  increase  had  been  foreseen  by  the 
Squire,  who  was  a  farmer  far  in  advance  of  the  average 
in  his  knowledge  of  the  best  methods  of  treating  the 
soil,  and  of  taking  advantage  of  whatever  natural  con 
ditions  might  be  presented.  He  had,  in  emigrating, 
supplied  himself  with  the  best  men  from  his  own  farms, 
and  on  arriving  in  Carolina  had  wisely  supplemented 
these  by  the  addition  of  overseers  accustomed  to  the 
management  of  slave  labor,  which  was,  of  course,  the 
only  labor  to  be  used  to  advantage  in  this  country  and 
at  this  time.  Availing  himself  of  the  best  of  the  rude 
tools  then  employed  by  fanners,  and  even  in  many 
instances  improving  on  these  from  his  own  skill  and 
inventive  faculty,  his  cultivation  of  the  land  had  proved 
even  more  successful  than  he  had  anticipated. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  write,  his  extensive  and  rich 
fields  were  an  attraction  which  frequently  brought  visits 
from  foreigners  inspecting  the  country  with  a  view  to 
settlement,  and  amply  repaid  the  labor  and  skill  ex- 


7g  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF. 

pended  upon  them  in  the  remuneration  of  large  and 
excellent  crops.  Fine  timber  filled  such  of  the  wood 
land  as  was  not  cleared  for  farming ;  considerable 
streams  enabled  the  easy  transportation  of  logs  to 
whatever  part  of  the  estate  might  be  desired  ;  and  the 
enormous  quantities  of  game  of  all  kinds  with  which  the 
forest  abounded,  supplied  the  Squire's  table  to  an  extent 
an  i  of  a  quality  not  dreamed  of  in  the  castles  of  Scot 
land,  or  the  old  manor  houses  of  England  or  Ireland. 

The  farm  buildings  were  numerous  and  extensive 
In  the  center,  but  removed  a  considerable  distance 
from  these,  and  overlooking  them,  was  the  family  man- 
skn,  which,  now  ten  years  old,  had  begun  to  assume  an 
appearance  of  antiquity  sufficient  to  give  it  the  tone 
and  dignity  which  should  properly  characterize  such  a 
structure. 

A  long  and  broad  two-storied  stone  building,  built 
of  material  quarried  on  the  estate,  it  was  massive,  yet 
handsome  and  graceful,  having  a  piazza  running  the 
full  length  in  front,  with  a  roof  supported  by  Corin 
thian  columns. 

An  extensive  and  beautiful  lawn  sloped  down  to  the 
stream  which  rushed  with  considerable  force  a  few  hun 
dred  yards  below.  Fine  old  trees  shaded  this  lawn,  and 
made  the  broad  and  well-kept  carriage-way  to  the  house 
always  an  attractive  and  interesting  drive.  The  stables 
were  commodious,  and  contained  fine  saddle-horses, while 
large  and  well -constructed  and  thoroughly -equipped 
barns  were  occupied  by  the  best  breeds  of  cattle,  then 
being  first  imported  into  the  Colonies, 


DANIEL  BOONE.  fg 

It  was  a  bright  and  beautiful  spring  day  at  the  time 
of  which  we  have  been  relating,  and  the  estate  which 
we  have  attempted  to  describe,  presented  as  fair  an  as 
pect  as  could  well  be  imagined. 

1  he  luxuriant  foliage  ;  the  grassy  lawn  carefully  cut 
and  trimmed  ;  in  the  distant  fields  the  negroes  seen 
working,  apparently  cheerful  and  happy ;  the  negre 
quarters,  liberally  and  well  kept ;  the  overseers  riding 
about,  directing  farming  operations ;  the  songs  of 
many  birds ;  the  bloom  of  blossoms  on  the  trees  and 
in  the  fields  ;  and  the  distant  sound  of  the  wood-chop 
per's  axe — all  of  this  afforded  a  delightful  scene,  pleas 
ing  at  once  to  eye  and  ear. 

Beautiful,  indeed,  it  appeared  to  two  young  people 
who  could  be  seen  crossing  the  rude  bridge  that  spanned 
the  stream,  and  entering  the  drive  which  led  to  the 
mansion. 

A  young  man,  handsome  and  finely  proportioned, 
who  rode  his  spirited  horse  like  a  Centaur,  and  whose 
dress,  the  usual  riding  costume  of  the  gentry  of  the 
period,  was  eminently  picturesque  ;  and  beside  him  a 
lovely  girl,  clad  in  a  riding  habit,  whose  appearance 
gave  token  equally  of  the  fearless  and  accomplished 
horsewoman,  and  the  cultured  and  refined  lady.  These 
were  the  two  in  question. 

As  the  pair  reached  the  solid  road  after  passing  the 
bridge,  the  mettlesome  steeds,  which  had  been  curbed 
in  for  the  moment,  started  into  a  brisk  canter,  and  in  a 
few  moments  brought  their  riders  to  the  broad  piazza 
of  Squire  O'Brien's  residence. 


So 

The  cavalier  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  in  an  instant 
was  ready  to  help  the  young  lady  alight.  Almost  at 
the  same  moment  half  a  dozen  colored  servants  made 
their  appearance,  and  led  the  smoking  horses  around 
to  the  stables. 

Giving  the  lady  his  hand  to  assist  her  to  ascend  the 
flight  of  steps  which  led  to  the  piazza,  while  she  gath 
ered  up  her  habit  and  displayed  a  dainty  foot  by  the 
movement,  he  said  to  her : 

"  Well,  Maude,  are  you  tired  after  our  long  excur. 
sion?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,  Harry.  How  could  I  be  with  such 
*n  escort?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  half  believe  what  you  say,"  the 
young  man  whispered  in  her  ear,  as  several  persons 
appeared  at  the  doorway  above  them. 

She  gave  him  a  quick,  flashing  look,  and  said,  archly : 

"  It  would  hardly  be  worth  my  while  to  encourage 
you  in  a  half  belief." 

The  young  man  dropped  her  hand  and  looked  con 
fused  ;  but  if  he  was  about  to  reply  he  did  not,  for  at 
that  moment  they  were  interrupted  by  Squire  O'Brien, 
his  wife,  and  one  or  two  others  who  had  come  forward 
from  the  interior  of  the  house  to  meet  them. 

"  Welcome  home,"  said  the  Squire.  "  We  began  to 
think  you  had  either  been  lost,  which  was  not  likely, 
or  had  run  away  with  each  other,  which,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  was  the  solution  of  your  delay  which  I  pre 
ferred." 

The  girl  prudently  made  no  comment  upon  this  salu- 


DANIEL  8OONE.  gl 

tation,  but,  bowing  gracefully,  passed  into  the  house 
leaving  her  companion  to  get  out  of  the  difficulty  as 
best  he  could.  Our  young  gentleman  had  by  this  time 
recovered  his  equanimity,  and  was  not  in  the  least  em 
barrassed. 

"  Your  conclusion,  Uncle,  has  at  least  the  merit  of 
originality,  and  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion.  Of  the 
two  it  is  to  be  preferred.  So  far  as  lam  concerned,  I 
should  decidedly  rather  have  run  away  with  Coz,  than 
have  had  the  disgrace  of  losing  her  in  the  woods,  not 
to  speak  of  myself." 

"  Hugh,"  said  Lady  O'Brien  to  her  husband,  "  I  ant 
surprised  that  you  should  make  light  of  serious  mat 
ters.  What  a  dreadful  suggestion,  to  be  sure,  that 
Harry  should  run  away  with  our  Maude  ;  and  how  very 
low ! " 

'  My  dear,  it  was  only  a  jest,  as  Harry  understood  it, 
7  am  quite  certain." 

"  Excuse  me,  Uncle,"  observed  the  other,  as  though 
quite  seriously.  "  I  supposed  you  were  in  dead  earnest. 
But  I  will,  if  your  Ladyship  will  allow  me,  retire  to 
dress  for  dinner,  and  by  and  by  we  will  relate  our  ad 
ventures." 

Escaping  thus,  he  left  the  party,  and  retired  to  his 
room.  Lady  O'Brien,  however,  who  was  a  good  deal  of 
a  martinet  with  her  husband,  and  had  no  idea  whatso 
ever  of  the  value  or  uses  of  a  jest,  did  not  fail  to  im 
prove  the  opportunity,  by  taking  his  arm  and  leading 
him  to  one  side,  while  she  administered  a  continuance 
of  her  reproof  for  his  frivolity. 
4* 


g2  TH*.  LIRE  AND  TIMES  OF' 

We  will  now  turn  our  attention  to  the  remaining 
persons  who  had  made  their  appearance  on  the  piazza 
with  the  Squire  and  his  lady.  These  were  three  in 
number,  and  though  they  had  kept  silence  while  the 
colloquy  was  going  on,  they  were  evidently  amused 
auditors. 

Two  of  these  were  gentlemen :  one  a  man  about  fifty, 
with  hair  slightly  turning,  and  with  a  finely-cut  and  in 
telligent  face,  a  tall  and  impressive  figure,  and,  from  his 
dress,  evidently  a  clergyman  ;  the  other  was  a  slim 
and  graceful  though  muscular-appearing  young  gentle 
man,  rather  foppish  in  his  attire,  and  with  an  air  of 
elegance  about  him  which  showed  that  he  was  a  person 
of  condition.  They  were,  in  fact,  the  Reverend  Orin 
Bullock  and  young  Thomas  Hardeman,  whose  father 
owned  a  neighboring  property. 

The  third  of  the  group  was  a  lady  of  advanced  years, 
whose  silvery  hair  worn  in  the  fashion  known  as  Pom 
padour,  then  prevalent  in  society,  gave  her  a  majestic  and 
dignified  appearance,  which  was  sustained  by  a  tall  and 
rather  stout,  though  well-proportioned  figure,  set  off  in 
a  black  silk  brocade  dress,  and  laces  whose  tint  and 
texture  displayed  their  age  and  value. 

This  lady  was  Madame  Rawlings,  as  she  was  always 
addressed,  being  French  by  birth,  the  wife  of  one  of  the 
officers  of  Council  of  the  Governor  of  the  province,  and 
who  was  visiting  Squire  O'Brien  with  her  hustand. 

The  Squire  was  by  this  time  at  one  extreme  end  of 
the  piazza,  and  engaged  in  what  appeared  to  be  very 
earnest  conversation  with  his  wife. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  83 

"  I  should  say,"  observed  young  Hardeman,  "  that 
the  Squire  was  getting  what  the  natives  here  call  a 
pretty  lively  setting  down." 

The  rector  turned  his  face  the  other  way,  and  did 
not  look  altogether  pleased  at  the  remark,  but  Madame 
Rawlings  laughed  outright,  apparently  enjoying  the 
situation  with  all  the  delight  of  a  woman  of  the  world, 
which  she  was  by  experience  and  proclivity  at  once. 

"  You  are  a  sad  boy,  Thomas,"  she  remarked,  "  and 
should  not  make  comments  on  your  elders  " 

"  And  betters,"  interjected  the  youth  in  reply  to  this 
reproval. 

"  I  did  not  say  so,"  she  continued,  "  but  you  are  wel 
come  to  the  improvement." 

"  Dear  Madame,"  he  replied,  "  would  it  not  be  hard 
to  cut  us  off  on  account  of  our  youth  from  enjoyment 
of  the  vanities  into  which  we  also  must  doubtless  fall 
in  our  mature  years?" 

For  answer  to  this  she  tapped  him  on  the  arm  with 
her  delicate  white  hand,  and  glanced  in  the  direction 
of  the  rector,  who  was  studiously  contemplating  the 
landscape. 

Hardeman  shrugged  his  shoulders  ;  then,  turning  on 
his  heel,  he  brought  forward  two  chairs,  one  of  which 
he  offered  to  Madame  Rawlings.  Turning  to  the  rec 
tor,  he  said : 

:  My  dear  sir,  we  have  some  time  to  wait  for  dinner. 
Will  you  not  be  seated  ?  " 

The  rector  turned  sharply  about,  but  quite  incompe 
tent  to  withstand  the  courteous  manner  of  the  other, 


84  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

bowed,  and  with  a  word  of  thanks  took  the  proffered 
chair,  which  he  established  beside  that  of  Madame  Raw- 
lings.  Under  cover  of  her  pocket-handkerchief,  that 
lady  was  making  an  obvious  endeavor  to  conceal  her 
laughter  at  the  quick-witted  movement  of  her  young 
friend,  and  its  entire  success. 

He,  however,  with  as  serious  an  air  as  if  the  idea  of 
making  game  of  a  grave  and  reverend  doctor  in  the 
ology  had  never  entered  his  decorous  mind,  commenced 
a  conversation  with  Dr.  Bullock,  which  was  apparent))' 
of  interest  to  the  latter,  and  the  two  were  immediately 
engaged  earnestly  in  question,  rejoinder,  attack,  and 
counter-attack,  which,  indeed,  was  the  constant  habit 
of  their  lives. 

The  Squire  and  Lady  O'Brien  having  now  concluded 
the  matter  between  them,  approached  the  others,  and 
the  former  addressed  himself  to  Madame  Rawlirgs, 
while  her  Ladyship  retired. 

"  Your  husband  has  not  returned,"  he  said. 

"  Not  yet,  Squire.  Indeed,  it  may  be  some  hours 
before  he  arrives." 

"  Let  me  see — he  left  here  on  Tuesday,  and  this  is 
Friday." 

"  Oh,  yes.  He  has  had  ample  time  to  go  and  re 
turn ;  but  I  fancy  from  what  he  told  me,  that  the 
troubles  at  Hillsborough  may  detain  him  possibly 
longer  than  he  anticipated." 

"  I  know  little,"  responded  the  Squire,  "  of  the  de 
tails  of  those  troubles  but  the  bare  outline  he  gave  us, 
and  a  few  flying  rumors  with  regard  to  the  riotous 


DANIEL  BOONE.  85 

proceedings.     Are  you  of  the  opinion  that  he  will  find 
it  necessary  to  take  immediate  steps  in  the  matter  ?  " 

"  No,  I  imagine  not.  He  seemed  only  desirous  of 
informing  himself  fully,  or  as  fally  as  was  practicable, 
as  to  the  nature  and  objects  of  the  outbreak." 

"  Well,  I  could  have  told  him  that,"  said  the  Squire, 
briskly.  "  The  nature  of  the  outbreak  is  conspiracy 
and  riot  on  the  part  of  a  number  of  malignants,  and 
the  object  is  to  save  themselves  from  paying  any  taxes." 

"  Papa,  are  you  not  a  little  hard  on  them  ?  " 

The  Squire  turned  quickly,  and  observed  that  his 
daughter  had  approached  noiselessly,  and  now  stood 
close  beside  him. 

"  Pooh,  pooh,  Maude  !  you  know  nothing  of  these 
affairs.  What  a  democrat  she  is,  to  be  sure ! "  he 
added,  appealing  to  the  Madame. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  latter,  addressing  the  young 
lady,  "  if  you  had  had  my  training  in  France,  you 
would  hesitate  to  become  what  your  father — jokingly, 
I  am  sure,  calls  you." 

"  Dear  Madame !  believe  me,  papa  means  just  what 
he  says.  He  thinks  I  am  a  terrible  democrat  because 
I  can  not  bear  to  sec  poor  people  who  can  not  help 
themselves,  put  upon  by  those  in  power." 

Madame  Rawlings  colored  slightly  at  this,  and  the 
young  gill,  perceiving,  with  her  ready  woman's  wit, 
the  inference  that  might  be.  drawn  from  the  remark, 
hastened  to  explain  it. 

"  Pardon  me,  Madame.  You  must  know  that  I  could 
not  refer  in  that  speech  to  those  high  in  office  in  the 


86  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

King's  service.  But  you,  with  your  thorough  acquaint 
ance  with  affairs  in  the  Colonies,  will  be  willing  to  ad« 
mit,  I  am  sure,  that  those  high  officials  are  not  always 
successful  in  their  choice  of  subordinates." 

"  Well,  girl,"  laughed  the  Squire,  as  Madame  Raw- 
lings'  face  cleared,  "  you  were  getting  yourself  into  a 
pretty  scrape." 

"  But  you  must  admit  that  she  got  herself  out  of  it 
with  a  delicacy  and  neatness  which  even  you,  with  all 
your  Irish  quickness,  could  hardly  excel." 

"  You  are  both  of  you  so  complimentary,"  said 
Maude,  and  at  the  same  moment  she  courtesied  grace 
fully  to  the  two,  "  that  I  can  not  but  plume  myself  on 
an  error  which  brings  me  such  delicate  flattery." 

"  Ha !  Ha !  "  laughed  Madame  Rawlings.  "  It  will 
never  do  for  you  to  go  through  life  on  that  system. 
An  error,  though  graciously  received,  or  gracefully 
atoned  for,  should  never  be  permitted  to  become  the 
parent  of  others." 

"  No,  indeed !  No,  indeed ! '  said  the  Squire. 
"  Errors,  thus  perpetuated,  make  a  most  disagreeable 
and  uncomfortable  brood." 

"  Well,  papa,"  pursued  Maude,  "  I  have  not  yet  got 
the  Madame  either  to  assent  or  dissent  to  my  proposi 
tion." 

"  What  a  logician  the  girl  is !  "  and  Madame  Raw- 
lings  touched  Maude's  cheek  daintily  with  her  forefiiv 
ger.  "  My  dear,  I  very  willingly  concede  that  this 
beautiful  country  has  not  been  as  successful  in  its  hu 
man  as  in  the  rest  of  its  natural  productions,  and  that 


DANIEL  fiOONE.  8; 

the  natives,  when  elevated  in  station,  do  not  in 
the  least  honor  either  their  improved  position  or  the 
people  among  whom  they  have  had  the  fortune  or 
misfortune  to  be  born." 

"  How  does  that  strike  your  logical  mind,  younp 
lady?"  said  the  Squire. 

By  this  time  the  rector  and  young  Hardeman  had 
become  interested  in  the  conversation  going  on  near 
them,  and  were  both  listening  earnestly. 

Maude's  lithe  figure  seemed  to  rise  several  inches  in 
stature.  Passages  at  arms  were  not  in  the  least  uncom 
mon  between  the  Madame  and  herself. 

"  How  unfortunate  it  is,"  she  said,  "  that  at  least  one 
charge  the  gentlemen  are  pleased  to  make  against  ladies, 
and  which  one  might  wish  were  inaccurate,  is  unfortu 
nately  so  often  proved  to  be  true.*' 

"  And  that  charge  ?  "  said  Madame  Rawlings,  bridling. 

"  That  they  can  never  say  a  pleasant  thing  without 
immediately  counteracting  its  agreeable  influence  by 
enunciating  a  sharp  one." 

"  Really,  Maude,"  began  the  Squire  deprecatingly. 

The  girl  lifted  her  hand,  signifying  by  the  gesture 
that  she  had  not  concluded. 

"  A  moment's  reflection,"  she  continued,  "  would 
have  told  you,  Madame,  that  the  subordinate  officers  in 
this  Colony,  to  whom  I  have  alluded,  are  not,  as  a  rule, 
natives.  Quite  on  the  contrary,  they  are  usually  Scotch 
and  English  adventurers,  who,  owing  to  misfortunes  (we 
will  say)  at  home,  have  come  hither  to  retrieve  them 
selves  ;  and  who  are  too  often  sustained  by  authority 


88  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

cvhich  would  be  more  wisely  and  generously  displayed 
in  supporting  the  honest  and  respectable,  though  poor 
natives,  whom  you  contemn." 

The  girl's  color  had  heightened  ;  her  small,  shapely 
head  was  poised  erect  on  her  graceful  neck,  and  her 
clear  gray  eyes  showed  defiance,  ready  for  any  one  who 
might  contradict  her.  She  looked  like  a  beautiful  creat 
ure  at  bay,  and  charged  upon  by  a  multitude  of  pur 
suers. 

Her  position  in  an  argument  of  the  character  of  this 
one,  was,  in  fact,  not  agreeable,  for  all  of  those  present 
were  in  their  hearts  opposed  to  her  opinions,  and  she 
knew  quite  well  that  the  next  moment  would  witness 
an  avalanche  of  opposition  pouring  upon  her  devoted 
head. 

She  had  barely  ceased  speaking,  however,  when  her 
cousin  appeared.  Drawing  a  long  breath  she  cast  him 
a  look  over  her  shoulder,  which  was  so  appealing,  and 
at  the  same  time  so  intelligent,  that  the  young  man 
appreciated  instinctively  the  situation.  Approaching, 
he  said  quickly : 

"  What  is  it,  Coz  ?  Are  we  poor  natives  under  the 
rod  again  ?  You  see  I  caught  your  last  words,  although 
I  have  not  the  least  idea  what  has  gone  before." 

At  this  moment  the  loud  clang  of  the  dinner-bell 
was  heard,  and  as  the  Squire  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  Mad 
ame  Rawlings  rose  to  her  feet,  and  masking  her  discom 
fiture  at  the,  to  her,  inopportune  arrival  of  reinforce 
ments  for  Maude,  accepted  the  proffered  arm  of  the 
rector,  and  led  the  way  within  the  house. 


DANTEL  BOONE.  gg 

Harry  claimed  the  just  reward  for  his  fortunate  ap 
pearance  by  taking  his  cousin  by  the  hand  and  follow- 
ing,  while  the  Squire  and  Hardeman  brought  up  the 
rear,  the  latter  remarking,  after  his  customary  cynical 
fashion,  as  they  crossed  the  threshold : 

"  Squire,  that  was  the  hottest  fire  I  ever  saw  that 
didn't  get  past  smouldering." 

"  My  boy,"  said  the  other,  clapping  him  on  the  shoul 
der,  "  don't  be  in  a  hurry.  One  can  never  be  certain  that 
he  has  surmounted  a  difficulty  until  its  full  nature  at 
least  has  been  presented  to  him." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

How  Daniel  Boone  disappeared,  and  how  the  most  important  characters  in 
oar  narrative  were  set  searching  for  him,  and  with  what  success  ;  with  s 
hint  at  a  romance  to  be  hereinafter  further  developed. 

THE  dining-room  at  "  Mount  Mourne  " — which  was 
the  name  the  Squire  had  given  his  mansion,  after  a  range 
of  hills  in  Ireland — was  a  large  and  lofty  room,  wains 
coted  in  oak  and  furnished  in  the  same  material.  A 
long  and  heavy  oak  table  occupied  the  center  of  the 
room  ;  a  massive  sideboard,  brilliant  with  silver  plate, 
nearly  filled  one  end  of  it ;  and  carved  arm-chairs,  with 
a  few  smaller  tables,  completed  the  furniture. 

On  the  walls,  besides  framed  engravings  of  game,  or 
sporting  scenes,  were  hung  antlers  and  other  trophies  of 
the  hunt.  A  large  open  fire-place  with  a  broad  mantel, 
the  whole  of  handsomely  carved  woodwork,  displayed  an 
enormous  fire  of  great  logs ;  for  at  this  season  in  this 
part  of  Carolina  the  evenings  were  usually  cold.  Hand 
some  candelabra,  with  wax  candles,  were  placed  in 
readiness  for  lighting  the  table,  which  was  covered  with 
a  damask  table-cloth,  and  displayed  a  fine  service  of 
Dresden  china.  The  dining-hour  being  two  o'clock, 
artificial  illumination  was  not  needed. 

Everything  about  the  ripnrtmcnt,  as  indeed  was  the 
<#» 


DANTEL  BOONE.  g\ 

case  throughout  the  dwelling,  gave  evidence  of  great 
wealth  and  excellent  taste. 

Lady  O'Brien,  although  a  member  of  the  oldest  aris 
tocracy  of  Ireland,  had  been  trained,  as  was  the  custom 
in  those  days,  in  every  department  of  housewifery,  and 
was  a  thorough  and  capable  manager.  Although  in 
clined  to  pride  herself  on  her  birth  and  early  associa 
tions  and  education,  and  while  being,  withal,  a  stickler 
for  all  the  forms  and  ceremonies  of  social  courtesy  and 
manner,  she  was  not  the  less  an  excellent  and  lavish 
hostess. 

The  party  who  now  sat  down  to  table  included  be 
sides  those  we  have  named,  Mile.  Raimonde,  who  had 
been  Maude's  French  teacher  and  governess  in  her  ear 
lier  youth,  and  had  accompanied  the  family  to  America, 
and  still  remained  on  as  a  companion  to  Maude  and  a 
firmly-attached  member  of  the  household.  She  was  a 
prim-looking,  rather  graceful  spinster  of  about  forty 
years  of  age,  who  said  little  unless  addressed  ;  who 
spoke  English  with  a  very  slight  accent,  however,  and 
correctly  as  to  grammar,  and  could  converse  intelligent 
ly  on  most  of  the  questions  of  the  day. 

A  place  left  vacant  beside  that  of  Madame  Rawlings 
betokened  that  the  absent  husband  of  that  lady  was 
not  unexpected. 

The  servants  who  waited  at  table  were  negroes,  and 
in  livery,  this  being  a  concession  to  the  notions  of  Lady 
O'Brien,  willingly  accorded  by  her  husband,  who,  in 
deed,  interfered  little  or  none  in  her  management  of 
the  domestic  affairs,  it  being  perfectly  understood  be* 


02  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

tween  them  that  she  was  to  have  as  little  voice  in  the 
direction  of  those  which  were  external. 

Although  the  Squire  frequently  antagonized  hig 
daughter's  rather  advanced  ideas  with  regard  to  repub 
licanism  and  democracy,  he  was  himself  not  in  the  least 
given  to  very  pronounced  aristocratic  opinions.  In  his 
treatment  of  the  farm  hands  and  of  his  overseers  his 
manner  was  cordial  and  genial,  and  he  was  universally 
liked.  Among  his  equals  he  was  affable  and  agreeable, 
but  held  himself  with  dignity. 

General  conversation  went  on  as  the  meal  progressed, 
the  party  having  tacitly  agreed  to  dismiss  the  subject 
which  had  occupied  several  of  them  immediately  before 
that  meal,  and  which  seemed  to  have  reached  a  point 
where  it  was  not  desirable  for  it  to  be  immediately  re 
newed.  But  it  was  in  the  minds  of  several  of  them,  as 
the  occasional  glances  between  Maude  and  her  cousin, 
and  the  somewhat  conventional  manner  of  Madame  Raw- 
lings  surely  betokened.  A  diversion  brought  this  sub 
ject  uppermost  when  the  meal  was  about  half  through. 
The  clattering  of  a  horse's  hoofs  had  been  heard,  and 
Madame  Rawlings  remarked  briefly  : 

"  That  is  my  husband  ! " 

And  in  a  few  moments  the  door  opened  to  admit  the 
gentleman  in  question,  who,  immediately,  after  general 
salutation,  took  his  seat  beside  his  wife  and  became  en 
gaged  in  discussing  the  viands  before  him.  He  was 
not  permitted,  however,  to  eat  at  peace,  being  at  once 
beset  with  questions  from  all  directions. 


DANIEL  BOONB.  93 

•'*  How  did  you  get  through  the  Hillsboiough  mat 
fer?"  asked  the  Squire. 

"  And  do  tell  us,"  chimed  in  his  lady,  "  if  that  unfor 
tuhatc  Scotchman,  McCandless,  was  killed  or  no!" 

"  And  were  there  many  of  the  poor  people  injured  ? 
asked  Maude,  and  nearly  every  one  looked  disturbed  at 
the  question. 

"  One  at  a  time,  my  good  friends,"  said  Mr.  Raw- 
lings,  who  was  a  reserved-looking  gentleman  of  about 
fifty  years,  who  stooped  at  the  shoulders,  and  whose 
face  was  innocent  of  beard  or  whisker ;  a  man  appar 
ently  cut  out  for  a  diplomatic  or  official  position,  if 
such  characters  should  signify  their  vocations  in  their 
countenances. 

"  One  at  a  time,  if  you  please— consider  that  I  am 
on  his  Majesty's  business,  besides  being,  as  you  all 
know,  not  in  the  least  given  to  talking  on  my  own 
account." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  this,  for  the  Governor's 
counselor  was  noted  for  talking  a  great  deal  and  saying 
very  little.  His  reserve,  so  far  as  reticence  was  con 
cerned,  existing  only  in  his  face,  where,  like  Lord  Bur- 
leigh's  nod,  it  stood  for  any  amount  of  wisdom. 

"  But,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  continued,  as  the 
last  course  was  being  removed,  and  dessert  and  coffee 
were  placed  on  the  table.  "Thank  you,"  he  added  in 
parenthesis,  bowing  to  the  Squire,  who  was  drinking 
wine  with  him.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  done 
nothing  but  listen,  since  I  have  been  away,  to  all  sorts 
>f  people  telling  about  all  sorts  of  wrongs,  until  I  fed 


94  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

as  if  I  had  been  deprived  of  my  own  rights,  and  am 
quite  ready  to  talk  about  any  subject  in  the  world — 
except  this  one.' 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  put  in  Hardeman,  "  that's  hard 
ly  kind  to  us  who  are  so  anxious  and  so  interested." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  altogether  a  pleasant  topic,  as  indeed 
these  local  squabbles  seldom  are ;  but  in  a  nutshell  it 
amounts  to  just  this  :  McCandless,  who  is  a  grocer  by 
trade  and  tax-collector  by  profession,  d<3es  not  stop 
with  giving  short  weight  in  his  groceries,  but  applies 
the  same  principle  reversed  to  his  mode  of  collecting 
taxes.  Of  that  there  can  be  no  sort  of  doubt.  Whether 
it  is  the  one  grievance  or  the  other  which  is  uppermost 
in  the  minds  of  his  enemies,  I  do  not  know.  But  that 
he  has  enemies  for  one  or  the  other  reason,  and  per- 
haps  both,  his  bruised  and  shattered  frame  relates  with 
unquestionable  accuracy." 

"  Was  he  badly  hurt  ?"  inquired  the  Squire. 

"  Yes.  Pretty  nearly  pounded  to  pieces.  The  affair 
begun  by  his  putting  a  boy  out  of  his  store  for  impu 
dence,  as  he  said — though  this  is  denied  by  others — 
and  by  his  being  badly  thrashed  by  the  boy's  father, 
one  Daniel  Boone,  a  hunter  from  up  back  of  here 
somewhere,  and  who  is  suspected  to  be  in  league  with 
the  Regulators." 

"  Oh  !  I  know  him,"  said  Harry  Calvert,  who  had  not 
yet  spoken.  "  He  is  no  Regulator.  He  is  a  very  brave, 
straightforward  man,  who  has  gone  farther  west,  I  guess, 
in  the  woods,  and  seen  more  hairbreadth  'scapes  from 
bears  and  Indians  than  anybody  else  in  the  Carolinas." 


DANIEL  BOONE.  95 

"  Well,  however  that  may  be,"  said  Mr.  Rawlings, 
continuing,  "  he  began  the  trouble,  intentionally  or  not. 
He  retrieved  himself  afterward  by  a  remarkable  feat  oi 
marksmanship." 

"  Indeed  !  What  was  that  ?  said  several  about  the 
table. 

"  Why,  there  was  a  fellow  named  Caleb  Glennie,  a 
Sheriff  who  came  with  Judge  Anderson  from  Granville, 
in  pursuance  of  his  duties  in  the  court-room,  and  who 
seems  to  have  been  a  particular  object  of  popular  ani 
mosity,  for  what  reason  I  did  not  discover.  However, 
the  rioters  captured  him  and  were  about  hanging  him, 
having  proceeded  so  far  as  to  have  the  rope  about  his 
neck  and  himself  dangling  in  the  air,  when  this  man 
Boone  fired  a  ball  from  his  rifle  which  cut  the  rope  in 
two,  and  let  the  man  to  the  ground.  He  was  not  so 
much  injured  but  that  he  was  able  to  escape  to  his 
friends. 

"  Judge  Anderson  very  properly,  considering  the  state 
of  the  town — for  by  this  time  they  were  pillaging  the 
stores,  burning  the  houses,  and  shooting  with  their 
rifles  and  horse-pistols,  right  and  left — the  Judge,  I  say, 
concluded  not  to  hold  court,  and  withdrew  with  his 
people  to  Granville." 

"  How  was  the  riot  finally  quelled  ?"  asked  Madame 
Rawlings. 

"  Why,  by  the  people  themselves.  I  mean  those  of 
the  town,  who,  seeing  their  property  being  destroyed, 
however  much  they  sympathized  with  the  Regulators, 
could  not  willingly  submit  to  loss  on  their  own  account. 


96  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 


kli~  most  curious  incident  of  the  whole  mattef 
occurred  some  two  or  three  days  after  the  affair,  that  is 
to  say,  one  day  last  week,  and  in  regard  to  this  very 
Daniel  Boone  of  whom  I  have  spoken. 

"  It  appears  that  he  had  incurred  the  enmity  of  the 
Regulators,  although  he  was  the  first  one  to  attack 
McCandless.  They  could  not  overlook  his  rescue  of 
the  Sheriff,  while  his  departure  with  Judge  Anderson 
and  a  visit  that  he  appears  to  have  made  at  the  Judge's 
house,  still  further  aroused  their  anger  against  him. 
After  he  left  Granville  on  his  homeward  journey,  he 
stopped  overnight  with  a  fellow  by  the  name  of  Howell, 
Rednap  Howell,  who  is  himself  suspected  of  being  con 
cerned  with  the  Regulators. 

"  Boone  left  there  in  the  morning  with  his  little  boy 
on  his  horse  before  him,  ard  continued  on  to  a  point  a 
few  miles  from  Hillsborough,  where  he  had  a  relative 
residing.  He  stopped  there  pcrrt  of  one  day  and  over 
night,  and  departed  on  the  follow  .vg  morning. 

"  A  few  hours  later  the  little  boy  c.;me  back  to  the 
house  crying  bitterly,  and  stated  that  his  father  haci 
been  surrounded  by  a  band  of  men  wha  hal  attacked 
him,  pulled  him  from  his  horse,  and  though  \\r.  fougb* 
hard,  and  succeeded  in  wounding  one  of  them  severely, 
had  overpowered  him. 

,/ 

"  They  then  placed  him  on  his  horse,  tied  his  h.\nd.s 
behind  him,  and  his  feet  under  the  horse's  belly,  ».\"\«.\ 
led  him  away,  leaving  the  boy  to  take  care  of  himself. 
The  little  fellow  had  followed  the  road,  and  found  his 
way  back  to  the  point  whence  they  started." 


DANIEL  BOONh. 


97 


"Why,  what  a  terrible  act  !  "  said  Maude,  whose  feel 
ings  were   at  once   enlisted    in    favor   of   the   hunter, 
to  whose  bravery  and  energy  her  cousin    had  borne 
witness. 

"  Yes,  young  lady,  you  are  right,"  said  her  father 
"  it  was  a  terrible  act,  and  you  must  remember  that 
the  atrocious  villains  who  conducted  it  were  the  very 
ones  whom  you  are  inclined  to  favor." 

The  girl  colored  up  and  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  As 
before,  Harry  Calvert  came  to  her  rescue. 

"  But,  Mr.  Rawlings,  why  should  these  men  attack 
Boone  and  carry  him  off  if  there  were  any  grounds 
for  the  suspicion  that  he  was  one  of  them,  as  you  hinted 
a  while  ago  ?  " 

"  And  certainly,"  added  Maude,  plucking  up  courage, 
"  if  there  were  any  truth  in  that,  Judge  Anderson  would 
not  have  invited  him  to  visit  him  at  his  residence." 

"  Well,  I  can  hardly  explain  the  matter  myself.  I 
only  heard  of  this  latter  occurrence  after  I  had  left 
Hillsborough,  and  was  on  my  way  hither,  and  what  I 
say  is  based  upon  rumor." 

"  It  may  be,"  remarked  the  Squire,  "  that  the  Regu 
lators  hoped  to  cajole  or  threaten  Boone  into  joining 
them." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  the  other. 

"  I  don't  believe,"  observed  Harry,  "  from  what  I 
know  of  Boone,  that  any  attempt  of  that  kind  will  meet 
with  success.  He  is  not  the  sort  of  man  to  be  either 
cajoled  or  threatened  into  any  course  to  which  he  did 
not  give  his  approval." 
5 


98  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  But,  in  the  meantime,"  cried  Maude,  excitedly, '  thh 
unfortunate  man  is  held  in  confinement,  perhaps  abused 
and  tortured  by  his  captors,  and  as  for  that,"  she  added, 
looking  at  her  father,  "  I  know  nothing,  of  course,  about 
the  particular  men  who  have  seized  Boone.  All  my 
commiseration  goes  to  the  mass  of  people  whom  I  see 
aroused  to  acts  of  violence  by  their  necessitous  con 
dition  and  ill-treatment." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  Squire,  quickly.  "  You  are  all 
right  in  theory,  girl,  but  you  had  much  better  keep 
your  opinions  theoretical,  and  not  attempt  to  identify 
yourself  with  individual  cases." 

"  But,  certainly,  Squire,"  said  the  rector,  who  up  to 
this  time  had  been  an  interested  but  silent  listener, 

Miss  Maude  is  right  in  taking  into  consideration  the 
case  of  this  man  Boone.  I  have  heard  of  him,  and 
have  heard  nothing  but  good.  He  seems  to  be,  from 
all  accounts,  an  honest  fellow,  and  it  certainly  seems 
that  this  capture  by  the  Regulators  should  be  consid 
ered  as  to  his  advantage.  Something  ought  to  be  done 
for  him." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  meant,"  said  Maude,  with  a 
grateful  smile  at  the  rector ;  "  he  ought  to  be  looked 
for,  found,  and  rescued." 

"  More  easily  said  than  done,  young  lady,"  remarked 
Mr.  Rawlings.  "  His  captors  have  the  advantage  of 
several  days'  start,  and  they  are  desperate  men,  who 
would  stop  at  nothing  to  carry  out  their  objects.  I 
can  assure  you,  Miss  O'Brien,  that  I  quite  sympathize 
with  you  in  your  kindly  feeling  in  behalf  of  a  brave 


DANIEL  BOONE.  <g 

man,  and  so  far  as  any  influence  or  power  I  have  can 
effect  anything,  will  gladly  aid  in  discovering  what  has 
been  done  with  him,  and  restore  him  to  his  family  if 
possible." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  cried  Maude,  eagerly.  "  If  only 
ill  our  rulers  were  like  you  " 

"  Tut,  tut,  girl !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire.  "  Don't  let 
us  get  on  that  subject  again." 

"  Well,"  said  Harry,  who  had  been  very  thoughtful 
for  a  few  moments.  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  "• 

"  Oh,  Harry  !  To  do  what  ?  "  cried  Maude,  beaming 
upon  him,  with  smiles  and  expectation  struggling  in  her 
countenance. 

"  I  am  going  to  hunt  for  Daniel  Boone,  and  rescue 
him  if  I  can  find  him." 

"  Bravo,  Harry ! "  and  she  clapped  her  hands,  and 
appeared  delighted  with  the  determination  of  her 
cousin. 

"  I  shall  call  for  volunteers,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  So  whoever  is  ready  to  join  me  must  be  prepared, 
for  I  shall  set  out  immediately." 

"  Well,  Calvert,"  said  Thomas  Hardeman,  in  his  lazy 
way,  "  if  you  don't  get  more  volunteers  than  you  want, 
and  I  haven't  an  idea  you  will,  you  can  count  on  me." 

"  I  am  hardly  equal  to  a  search  of  this  character," 
observed  Mr.  Rawlings,  "  but  I  hold  to  what  I  said  to 
Miss  O'Brien,  a  moment  ago.  If  you  need  any  assist 
ance  that  I  can  properly  give,  I  shall  be  glad  to  afford  it.' 

"  Really,"  said  Harry,  looking  about  him.  "  Mr 
Boone  does  not  seem  to  be  altogether  without  friends 


ttiR  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OP 

after  all.     I  dare  say  I  shall  have  quite  a  respectable 
following." 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  conversation  at  this  mo« 
ment,  and  Lady  O'Brien  took  advantage  of  it  to  glance 
at  Madame  Rawlings,  whereupon  the  ladies  arose  and 
left  the  table  to  repair  to  the  drawing-room. 

The  gentlemen  being  left  over  their  wine,  the  subject 
was  resumed  and  discussed  by  all  present,  none  of 
whom,  however  emphatic  their  opinions  might  be  on 
the  general  question  of  loyalty  to  the  laws  and  the 
King's  officers,  felt  the  slightest  animosity  toward  the 
victim  of  the  present  attack. 

The  Squire,  to  be  sure,  who  was  rather  an  easy-going 
man,  and  seldom  troubled  himself  about  occurrences 
that  did  not  immediately  concern  him,  did  not  particu 
larly  interest  himself  in  the  matter,  but  listened  pa 
tiently,  and  occasionally  threw  in  a  word  by  way  of 
suggestion,  as  the  plan  of  operations  was  discussed. 

"I  would  like  to  take  Mike,  sir,"  said  Harry,  address 
ing  the  Squire,  "  if  you  can  spare  him." 

"  Why,  my  boy,  what  do  you  want  of  him  ?  He  will 
only  get  you  into  some  scrape." 

"  Well,  you  know,  Mike  is  accustomed  to  me,  and 
we  understand  each  other.  He  is  muscular,  which 
is  one  reason  I  want  him,  and  quick-witted,  which  is 
another." 

"  And  besides,"  put  in  the  rector,  "  he  knows  almost 
everybody,  and  has  a  way  of  his  own  for  obtaining  in 
formation  which  I  never  saw  equaled." 

"  Oh  !     Well,  well,"  said  the  Squire,  "  if  you  want 


DANIEL  BOONS.  IO1 

him,  and  he  don't  object  to  ^;;:i.c;,  you  can  take  him, 
I  am  sure." 

"  Oh,  he  won't  object  to  going,"  said  Harry.  "  The 
chance  of  a  '  scrimmage,'  as  he  will  call  it,  will  give  the 
affair  charms  for  him,  which  will  be  quite  sufficient  to 
make  up  for  any  hardships  he  may  be  called  upon  to 
endure." 

"  Hardships  ?  "  said  Hardeman. 

Everybody  laughed.  The  young  man  was  rather 
proud  of  his  reputation  as  a  gentleman  of  leisure,  and 
who  had  never  undergone  anything  in  the  nature  of 
hardship. 

•'  Well,"  explained  Harry.  "  I  don't  want  to  under 
estimate  the  matter.  We  shall  have  some  hard  riding 
for  one  thing." 

Oh,  I  don't  mind  that ! "  said  Hardeman. 

"  No,  I  know  you  don't.  You  are  one  of  the  best 
horsemen,  and  you  have  one  of  the  best  mounts  in  the 
Colonies  ;  but  then  we  shall  have  to  do  some  covert 
work,  and  generally  dodge  these  fellows,  when  we  find 
who  they  are,  and  it  may  come  to  a  fight  at  last." 

"  Well,  there  is  nothing  in  all  that  that  appals 
me." 

"  Also,"  continued  Harry,  "  we  shall  probably  have 
to  camp  out." 

"  I  like  that.     I  do  it  every  season  for  fun." 

"  Well,  that  fills  the  catalogue,  I  think ;  at  least  for 
what  can  be  prepared  for  in  advance.  So  you  are  ac 
cepted" 

The  gentlemen  now  rose  from  the  table  to  join  th« 


102  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

ladies,  and  as  they  were  passing  through  the  door  into 
the  main  hall,  Harry  remarked  to  Mr.  Rawlings : 

"  I  think,  sir,  that  although  they  have  the  start  of  us, 
there  is  a  fair  chance  of  our  finding  Boone,  even  now.1 

He  spoke  in  quite  a  loud  tone  of  voice.  At  the 
same  moment  a  servant  approached  the  Squire,  and 
with  a  gesture  of  his  hand  toward  the  hall,  said  : 

"  There's  a  gemman  wants  to  see  you,  massa  Squire." 

"  Where  is  he?"  said  the  Squire,  looking  about. 

The  negro  turned  from  one  side  to  another,  appar 
ently  surprised. 

"  He  done  stood  there  a  moment  ago,  massa.  'Fore 
God,  I  can't  tell  where  he  done  gone  to." 

A  deep  voice  said,  slowly,  "  I  am  the  gentleman  who 
was  inquiring  for  Squire  O'Brien." 

Turning  at  the  sound,  the  party  who  were  leaving 
the  dining-room  saw  the  surprising  figure  of  Rafe 
Slaughter. 

The  negro  had  sprung  to  one  side,  scared  at  the 
sound  of  the  voice  coming  from  an  unexpected  quar 
ter,  and  now  took  his  departure,  muttering  to  himself — 

"  Golly  !  I  specs  he  Obi  man,  dat  buckra." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  as  all  present  gazed  at  the 
strange  figure  of  Judge  Anderson's  secretary.  To  this 
species  of  reception  Rafe  was  so  accustomed  that  it  did 
not  in  the  least  embarrass  him.  As  Squire  O'Brien 
had  stepped  forward,  he  addressed  him  : 

"  I  have  a  note  of  introduction  for  you,  sir,  from 
Judge  Anderson,  of  Granville." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  cried  the  Squire.     "  My  old  friend, 


DANIEL  BOONE.  IOJ 

Dick  Anderson.  Any  one  armed  with  credentials  from 
him  may  be  sure  of  a  good  reception  in  this  house. 
Gentlemen,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  join  you  again 
presently." 

The  others  proceeded  leisurely  to  the  drawing-room, 
while  the  Squire  led  Rafe  to  an  apartment  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  hall,  which  was  his  private  sanctum, 
office,  and  library,  though  as  to  the  latter  function  it 
presented  but  little  in  the  way  of  resources. 

As  they  entered,  the  Squire  pointed  to  a  chair,  at 
the  same  time  receiving  from  the  hand  of  Rafe  the  let 
ter  from  Judge  Anderson.  Bowing  in  apology  as  he 
seated  himself,  he  perused  it  carefully,  and,  on  conclud 
ing,  folded  it  and  placed  it  in  a  drawer  in  the  table  be 
side  Him. 

"  Mr.  Slaughter,  the  Judge  refers  me  to  you  as  his 
confidential  secretary  and  personal  friend  and  intimate 
associate.  I  am  glad  to  know  you." 

"  My  commission  from  Judge  Anderson  to  yourself, 
sir,  is  simply  to  this  effect :  That  after  reading  the  let 
ter  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  transmit  to  him,  in 
writing,  your  acceptance  or  declination  of  the  proposi 
tion  which  it  contains,  and  as  to  the  particulars  of  which 
I  understand  you  are  already  fully  informed." 

"  That  is  perfectly  correct,  sir,"  replied  the  Squire. 
"  I  shall  take  pleasure  in  doing  as  the  Judge  desires." 

"  Now,  sir/'  continued  Rafe,  "  if  you  will  excuse  the 
liberty,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question  arising  from 
a  remark  which  I  chanced  to  overhear  as  you  and  you; 
fnV;u!s  H'fTp  fonr'ng  0|'t  from  Dinner," 


1 04  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

u  You  could  not  well  avoid  overhearing  whatever  wai 
said,"  remarked  the  Squire,  a  little  surprised,  however 
"  and  I  am  sure  you  are  at  liberty  to  make  any  com 
ment  upon  it,  or  ask  any  questions  regarding  it,  which 
you  may  desire.  I  know  very  well,  that  a  gentleman 
endorsed  by  my  friend  Richard  Anderson,  would  not 
be  likely  to  take  any  improper  advantage  of  such  lib 
erty." 

Rafe  bowed  and  proceeded :  "  I  heard  a  young  gentle 
man  remark, '  There's  a  fair  chance  of  our  finding  Boone, 
even  now  ! '  If  that  remark  referred  to  Daniel  Boone, 
and,  as  I  am  led  to  suppose,  anything  untoward  has 
happened  to  him,  not  only  is  it  a  matter  of  grave  inter 
est  to  me  from  my  personal  acquaintance  with  the  man, 
but  it  is  still  more  so  to  the  Judge,  and  may  incident 
ally  concern  yourself  hereafter  in  the  event  of  your 
accepting  his  proposition." 

"  By  Jove  !  "  said  the  Squire,  at  the  same  time  open 
ing  the  drawer  in  which  he  had  placed  Judge  Ander 
son's  letter,  which  he  took  hurriedly  in  his  hands,  and, 
opening  it,  proceeded  to  read  again  carefully.  "  Yes, 
the  Judge  alludes  here  to  some  one  to  whom  he  pur 
poses  entrusting  a  mission,"  and  he  scanned  closely 
the  face  of  the  secretary  as  he  spoke,  "  and  I  would  not 
?e  surprised  if  Daniel  Boone  were  the  man  to  whom 
he  refers." 

"  Daniel  Boone  is  precisely  that  man,"  said  the  other. 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  what  an  extraordinary  coinci 
dence  ! "  and  at  once  the  Squire  proceeded  to  relate  to 
the  listener  the  facts  which  have  already  been  made 


DANIEL  BOONE.  105 

known  to  the   reader  through  the  statement  of   Mr. 
Rawlings. 

Rafe  was,  indeed,  not  only  an  interested,  but  an  ex. 
cited  listener.  The  serious  importance  of  this  unex- 
pected  interference  with  the  plans  of  his  employer  was 
at  once  plain  to  him,  and  consideration  of  it  impressed 
him  gravely. 

Perceiving  how  concerned  his  guest  appeared  to  be, 
the  Squire  relieved  his  mind  by  assuring  him  that 
measures  were  already  on  foot  for  a  search  for  the  lost 
hunter.  On  hearing  this,  nothing  would  do  but  the 
Squire  must  at  once  present  Rafe  to  Harry  Calvert  as 
a  new  volunteer  for  the  expedition. 

They  accordingly  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room, 
where  Rafe  was  introduced  to  the  ladies,  and  on  the 
subject  of  Boone  being  mooted,  soon  showed  that  he 
was  a  warm  adherent  of  the  cause  of  the  unfortunate 
hunter. 

Rafe  had,  in  fact,  formed  a  profound  regard  for 
Boone  ;  besides,  his  devotion  to  his  employer's  interest, 
to  which  he  knew  the  hunter  to  be  essential,  made  him 
specially  anxious  for  his  safety.  He  at  once  spoke  in 
the  highest  terms  of  Boone's  character,  and  his  enthu 
siasm  soon  fired  the  rest. 

Maude  was  charmed  with  the  eccentric  little  secre 
tary,  and  nothing  would  do  for  any  of  them  now  but 
the  greatest  possible  speed  and  immediate  action.  Even 
young  Hardeman  became  aroused  out  of  his  customary 
placidity  and  as  earnest  as  the  rest. 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  details  of  the  expedition  hacj 
5* 


to6  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  O* 

been  arranged,  horses  ordered  and  brought  around  to 
the  piazza;  saddle-bags  hurriedly  packed,  rifles  selected, 
and  ammunition  stored  away ;  pistols  placed  in  their 
respective  holsters,  and  the  dinner  dress  of  the  young 
men  changed  for  a  more  appropriate  costume. 

"  But  where  is  Mike  ?  "  cried  Harry  as  these  prepara 
tions  had  been  nearly  concluded. 

There  was  a  loud  cry  for  Mike,  and  one  negro  after 
another  was  sent  in  search  of  him.  In  a  few  moments 
that  personage  stood  on  the  piazza  before  them,  a  thick 
set,  middle-aged-looking  Irishman,  with  an  old  greasy 
cap  held  in  one  hand,  while  he  pulled  his  forelock  obse 
quiously  with  the  other. 

"  Mike,  you  are  going  with  me,"  said  Harry  sharply. 

"  I  am,  your  honor  !  " 

"  Do  you  know  where  you  are  going?  " 

"  Divil  a  bit !  " 

"  How  long  will  it  take  you  to  get  ready  ?  " 

"  Shure,  for  what'll  I  be  wanting?  " 

"  Get  on  some  stout  clothes,  take  your  gun,  have  the 
Baron  saddled,  bring  a  pair  of  pistols  with  you  and  a 
knife,  and  be  as  quick  as  you  can  about  it." 

"  Is  it  murdering  we  are  going  for?  "  said  Mike. 

"  Egad !  it  may  come  to  that.     Now  do  as  I  bid  you 

"  But,  your  honor  !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Will  we  be  long  gone  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  knew,"  said  Harry,  "  but  I  don't.  You 
may  do  just  the  same  as  if  you  knew  we  would  be  gone 
six  months." 


DANIEL  BOONE. 

Mike  touched  his  forelock  again,  and  saying,  "  Baden 
shin !  I'll  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,"  vanished,  and  in 
about  that  time  he  appeared  mounted  on  a  raw-boned 
and  ungainly  steed  which  he  was  accustomed  to  ride, 
and  which  was  called  the  Baron,  as  Harry  said,  because 
he  was  barren  of  flesh ;  and  as  everything  was  now  in 
readiness,  the  gentlemen  proceeded  to  make  \\\o\taduux 
and  mount  their  several  steeds. 

Rafe's  horse  had  been  taken  to  the  stable  on  his  arri 
val,  and  fed,  and  was  now  brought  out  refreshed.  The 
secretary,  however,  requested,  and  obtained  permission 
to  leave  behind  him  in  Squire  O'Brien's  care,  certain 
papers  which  he  was  unwilling  to  risk  carrying  with 
him. 

At  the  last  moment  Harry  Calvert  was  missing,  and 
as  the  Squire  looked  about  him  he  perceived  with  con 
siderable  amusement  that  Maude  was  also  not  to  be 
seen. 

"  Where  is  Harry  ?  "  said  Lady  O'Brien. 

"Where  is  Maude?"  cried  the  Squire. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  she.  "  You  are  always  putting  them 
together." 

"  Nonsense,  my  Lady.  They  are  always  going  to 
gether,"  and  the  Squire  laughed  loud  and  long. 

If  the  reader  could  have  been  present  just  within  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room,  he  or  she  would  have  wit 
nessed  at  this  juncture  a  most  interesting  scene. 
Harry  was  not  ignorant  of  all  the  advantages  which  his 
plucky  conduct  had  given  him  in  relation  to  his  cousin 
Maude,  and  as  the  time  for  Betting  forth  had  approach. 


log       LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  DANIEL  BOONE. 

ed  he  had  drawn  her  away  from  the  rest  of  the  party 
and  the  two  were  now  engaged  in  a  very  affectionate 
parting  scene,  which  they  had  all  to  themselves. 

Hearing  his  name  called  loudly,  he  released  her  from 
the  tender  embrace  in  which  he  held  the  blushing  girl, 
and  said : 

"  Then,  Maude,  I  have  your  promise.  No  matter 
who  says  '  no,'  you  will  join  your  fortunes  to  mine  as 
soon  as  possible,  after  my  return  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Harry,  if — "  and  the  girl  looked  archly  at 
him  for  a  moment,  "  if  you  bring  back  Daniel  Boone." 

"  I  will  do  it  if  he  is  alive,"  said  Harry,  and  with  a 
parting  kiss  he  left  her  and  hurried  outside  where  the 
others  were  becoming  clamorous  at  the  delay. 

Throwing  himself  on  his  horse  and  assuming  the 
lead,  the  whole  party  waved  their  hands  and  galloped 
down  the  drive,  Mike  bringing  up  the  rear  amid  a 
chorus  of  shouts  from  the  negroes  who  had  gathered  tc 
witness  their  departure. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Hurry  Calvert,  being  formally  introduced  to  the  Reader  by  way  of  his  antece 
dents,  leads  his  party  to  Hillsborough.  Stephen  Roberts  sustains  his  repu 
tation  for  argumentative  capacity,  and  Mike  Dooley  succeeds  in  treeing  the 
oxm. 

HARRY  CALVERT  was  the  son  of  a  half-sister  of  Lady 
O'Brien,  who  had  married  into  the  family  of  the  Cal- 
verts  of  Maryland,  where  Harry  was  born.  The  young 
mar  was  therefore  of  the  best  Colonial  blood,  but,  un 
fortunately,  his  position  as  to  means  could  hardly  be 
said  to  accord  with  it.  It  will  thus  also  be  seen  that 
the  cousinship  between  Harry  and  Maude  was  one  de 
gree  removed. 

The  title  of  Lord  Baltimore,  which  went  with  the 
elder  branch  of  the  family,  was  at  present  held  by  Fred 
erick  Calvert,  who  lived  at  the  family  home  in  Ireland, 
and  was  rich,  but  childless.  In  the  event  of  his  dying 
without  heirs,  Harry  would  naturally  succeed  to  the 
Irish  property,  but  not  to  the  title. 

In  the  meantime,  our  young  gentleman,  though  gen 
erally  considered  an  eligible  parti  in  a  matrimonial 
sense,  so  far  as  his  personal  character  and  habits  were 
involved,  was  not  exactly  so  in  the  light  of  fortune. 
His  relative  might  easily  leave  his  property  in  some 
Other  direction,  and  his  hopes  as  to  that  could  hardly 

(109) 


1 10  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

^e  considered  thoroughly  founded.  There  was,  how 
ever,  some  reason  for  them,  inasmuch  as  the  young 
man  had  paid  a  visit  to  Ireland,  and  to  the  head  of  the 
family  a  few  years  before,  and  had  been  well  received. 
Occasionally,  also,  since  that  time,  letters  had  passed 
between  them  of  rather  more  than  a  friendly  sort. 

To  the  Squire,  who  was  fond  of  Harry,  the  latter  ap 
peared  entirely  satisfactory  as  a  prospective  son-in-law, 
but  by  Lady  O'Brien,  whose  views  concerning  fortune 
were  totally  opposite  to  those  of  her  husband,  he  was 
looked  upon  with  a  very  ill-grace  in  that  connection. 
He  was,  however,  frequently  a  visitor  at  Mount  Mourne, 
and,  as  we  have  seen,  was  always  well  received,  passing 
on  occasion  months  in  the  society  of  his  fair  semi- 
cousin.  The  rest  of  his  time  he  spent  in  the  vicinity 
of  Baltimore,  where  he  had  a  small  plantation,  which 
returned  an  income  sufficiently  large  to  support  him, 
though  not  extravagantly. 

Thus  much  being  said  of  one  who  is  destined  to  ap 
pear  as  a  principal  character  in  this  narrative,  we  return 
to  the  cavalcade  which  left  Squire  O'Brien's  hospitable 
mansion  and  directed  their  steps  toward  Hillsborough. 
Harry  rode  ahead  with  the  secretary,  in  whom  he  had 
become  interested,  as  representing  a  different  kind  of 
man  from  any  with  whom  he  had  before  been  ac 
quainted,  and  whose  character  he  felt  inclined  to  study. 
The  two  speedily  entered  into  conversation  and  com 
pared  notes  with  regard  to  their  previous  travels  and 
sojourneyings,  much  to  the  amusement  and  satisfaction 
of  each. 


DANIEL  SOONE.  \\\ 

Meanwhile,  Thomas  Hardcman  rode  a  short  distance 
behind,  occasionally  joining  in  their  conversation,  and 
at  other  times  pleasing  himself  with  the  sallies  of  dry 
humor  which  he  succeeded  in  extracting  from  Mike. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  their  first  halting  should 
be  made  at  the  house  of  a  planter  well  known  to  Cal- 
vert  and  Hardeman,  who  lived  about  twenty  miles  from 
Mount  Mourne.  Here  they  arrived  at  sundown,  and 
without  stating  the  nature  of  their  journey,  received 
an  immediate  welcome  and  offer  of  entertainment  for 
Jhe  night. 

The  party  were  up  betimes  on  the  following  morning, 
and  rode  hard  all  day,  reaching  the  immediate  vicinity 
of  Hillsborough  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  town 
itself  as  the  shades  of  evening  were  closing  in. 

Here  Hardeman  was  acquainted,  and  volunteered  to 
take  the  party  to  where  they  could  be  cared  for  during 
the  night.  On  the  following  day,  while  Mike,  under 
proper  directions,  remained  behind  at  the  little  tavern 
where  they  had  passed  the  night,  the  three  gentlemen 
rode  on  some  five  or  six  miles  to  the  south-west  of  the 
town  where  resided  one  Levi  Rodgers,  who  was  a  cousin 
of  Boone's  wife.  They  easily  found  the  place,  and  sue 
ceeded  in  obtaining  from  the  family  the  meager  infor 
mation  which  had  been  conveyed  by  the  lad  Jimmy, 
who  had  since  been  taken  by  a  member  of  his  family 
to  his  own  home  on  the  Yadkin,  at  the  same  time  con« 
veying  the  news  of  the  hunter's  capture. 

The  story,  as  it  had  been  related  by  Mr.  Rawlings, 
was  found  to  be  nearly  exact.  Boone  had  been  capt 


I  ti  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

ured  by  a  number  of  men,  as  many  as  ten,  the  lad 
thought,  with  none  of  whom  he  was  acquainted.  The 
captured  hunter  had  been  carried  westward  from  where 
he  was  taken,  on  the  same  road  just  passed  over  by 
Calvert  and  his  party.  It  was  probable,  however,  that 
he  had  been  soon  taken  into  the  bush  or  in  a  different 
direction  by  one  of  the  cross-roads  that  intersected  that 
part  of  Orange  County. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  learned  here,  and 
after  a  few  hours  our  travelers  resumed  their  horses  to 
return  to  Hillsborough. 

Here  they  found  Mike  waiting  for  them  with  quite  a 
oatch  of  news.  He  had  discovered  acquaintances  of 
nis  own  in  the  town,  and  as  the  riot  was  not  yet  a  nine 
days'  wonder,  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  them  to  con 
verse  freely  with  regard  to  it ;  and  not  only  this,  but 
by  a  little  skillful  investigation  he  had  learned  the 
names  of  three  of  the  men  who  were  undoubtedly  en 
gaged  in  the  abduction  of  Daniel  Boone. 

These  men  were  .Stephen  Roberts,  the  man  whom 
Howell  had  announced  his  determination  to  visit  on 
the  morning  when  Boone  left  his  house  ;  William  But 
ler  and  Harmon  Cox,  both  of  them  well-known  Regu 
lators.  Roberts  resided  in  town,  but  it  was  not  certain 
that  he  had  been  one  of  the  party  actually  engaged  in 
the  abduction,  though  it  was  believed  that  the  affair 
had  been  planned  and  directed  by  him.  Butler  and 
Cox  had  been  missing  ever  since  the  outrage. 

To  this  man  Roberts,  Calvert  determined  to  apply, 
though  not  imagining  that  he  would  obtain  much  infor- 


DANIEL  SOOtfE.  113 

mation  by  so  doing.  Roberts,  who  lias  been  described 
in  the  opening  pages  of  this  work,  had  a  well-authenti 
cated  reputation  for  being  a  man  of  great  cunning  and 
skill  in  masking  whatever  design  he  might  have,  or  any 
acts  that  he  might  perpetrate.  Calvert  found  him  at 
his  house,  not  far  from  McCandless'  store,  and  the  fol 
lowing  brief  colloquy  took  place  between  them  : 

"  Mr.  Roberts,  I  am  in  town  representing  friends  of 
Daniel  Boone,  a  farmer  out  in  Yadkin,  who  has  disap 
peared  within  the  last  week,  and  of  whom  no  traces 
can  be  found.  I  am  told  that  you  know  the  man,  and 
may  possibly  be  able  to  give  me  some  information  that 
will  relieve  the  minds  of  his  family  and  friends  concern 
ing  him." 

Roberts  sat  regarding  the  young  man  sharply  while 
he  spoke.  When  he  had  concluded,  he  said  : 

"  I  know  Daniel  Boone  veiy  well.  I  saw  him  here  in 
Hillsborough  with  Judge  Anderson's  party  on  the  day 
of  the  riot.  He  went  off  with  Judge  Anderson,  as  I 
was  afterward  told,  to  visit  him  over  in  Granville.  I 
have  not  seen  him  since." 

"  But,  there  is  some  talk,  Mr.  Roberts,  of  his  having  i 
been  waylaid  by  a  gang  of  men  and  kidnapped." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it ;  nothing  whatever." 

"  I  have  heard,  Mr.  Roberts,  the  names  of  men  men 
tioned  in  connection  with  this  affair  who  are  known  to 
be  associates  of  yourself." 

"  Young  gentleman,  I  am  a  lawyer,  a  profession  that 
brings  me  into  contact  with  a  great  many  different 
kinds  of  men." 


1 14  "WE  LfFE  ANO  TIMES  OF 

"  Particularly  criminals  and  the  kind  of  men  that 
would  be  apt  to  perpetrate  such  an  outrage,"  said 
Harry. 

"  Particularly  just  the  kind  of  men  you  indicate,"  re 
turned  Roberts.  "  That,  in  fact,  is  one  of  the  misfor 
tunes  of  my  profession." 

Here  he  smiled  grimly. 

"  We  can  not  always  control  our  associates,  or  my 
desire  would  be  to  have  none  but  such  as  might,  for  in 
stance,  be  represented  by  young  gentlemen  of  position 
like  yourself." 

Harry  bowed  at  this  compliment,  and  began  to  feel 
as  though  he  was  getting  the  worst  of  the  argument. 
He,  however,  persisted. 

"  Of  course,  Mr.  Roberts,  as  you  are  a  lawyer,  you 
are  much  more  accustomed  to  sophistry  than  an  inex 
pert  person  like  myself.  I  would  like,  however,  in  the 
interests  of  those  I  represent,  to  ask  you  one  or  two 
simple  questions." 

The  other  bowed  his  willingness  to  listen  to  the 
questions. 

"  Do  you  know  where  Daniel  Boone  is  now  ?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  he  is  alive  and  in  possession  of 
his  freedom?" 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing  about  him  more  than  I  have 
told.  My  present  knowledge  concerning  him  ends  with 
his  leaving  Hillsborough  to  visit  Judge  Anderson." 

"  When  have  you  seen  Rednap  Howell  ?  "  said  Harry 
suddenly. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  IIJ 

The  other  flushed  a  little  at  this  home  question,  but 
did  not  hesitate  in  his  reply. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him  in  a  month.  He  was  not  here 
on  the  day  of  the  riot." 

Harry  felt  as  sure  that  this  was  a  lie  as  he  could  feel 
of  anything,  but  he  had  no  means  of  proving  it,  and  as 
he  saw  that  there  was  very  little  to  be  gained  from  Mr. 
Roberts,  he  terminated  the  interview  by  rising,  and 
stating  that  he  had  no  further  questions  to  ask. 

The  other  accompanied  him  courteously  to  the  door, 
and  expressed  the  hope  that  he  would  meet  with  better 
success  in  his  investigations  in  the  future  than  had 
characterized  them  apparently  hitherto. 

Harry  thanked  him  with  rather  a  mocking  look  and 
returned  to  his  companions  quite  discomfited  with  his 
ill-success. 

Mike  was  absent  in  pursuit  of  knowledge,  and  the 
three,  after  a  hasty  conference,  concluded  that  what 
ever  result  they  might  obtain  in  the  way  of  finding  the 
lost  hunter,  must  be  the  work  of  their  own  brains  and 
energies. 

Without  any  positive  plan  in  their  minds,  they  made 
haste  to  leave  the  town,  and  were  nearly  ready  for  their 
departure,  when  Mike  appeared,  lugging  after  him  by 
the  arm  a  red-haired,  freckle-faced,  overgrown  boy 
about  seventeen,  who  appeared  very  unwilling  to  go 
with  him.  As  they  approached,  Mike  put  his  hand  to 
his  mouth  and  cried  out  to  Harry  in  what  he  meant  fof 
a  whisper : 

"  Whist !  your  honor !     Is  there  anybody  near  ?  " 


j  16  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  Not  a  soul,"  said  Harry,  looking  round  him. 

"Then,  begorra!  I've  found  out  something!" 

"What  is  it,  Mike?" 

"  Ax  this  rum-looking  thafe  of  the  wurruld." 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  my  lad  ?  What  have  you  got  to 
tell  us?" 

"  Nawthin',  sor." 

At  this,  Mike  administered  a  sound  box  on  the  ear 
of  the  boy,  at  which  he  set  up  a  howl. 

"  Shtop  yer  yelpin',  ye  young  shpalpeen.  Tell  the 
young  gentleman  what  you  told  me,  or  I'll  whale  the 
life  out  of  yez  !  " 

"  Tell  us  what  you  know,  my  lad,  and  no  harm  shall 
come  to  you.  On  the  contrary,  you  shall  have  half  a 
crown  for  your  trouble." 

This  proposition  appeared  to  strike  the  uncouth 
young  person  favorably ;  at  least,  it  acted  as  a  damper 
on  his  unearthly  whine,  which  he  was  still  inclined  to 
continue.  After  a  moment's  silence  and  apparent  con 
sideration,  he  said : 

"  So  bein',  if  yer'll  make  this  here  Irishman  leave  me 
be,  I'll  tell  yer,  an'  you  won't  peach  on  me." 

"  Mike,  let  him  alone,"  cried  Harry. 

Mike,  with  an  air  of  injured  innocence,  released  his 
hold  of  the  boy,  who,  to  his  evident  disappointment,  did 
not  attempt  to  run  away. 

"  You  see,  Mister,"  he  said,  "  I  wos  away  up  the 
road  the  day  this  man  Boone  started  home.  I  knowed 
him  from  seein*  him  an'  his  little  boy  down  yer  the  day 
they  wos  fightin',  an'  I  seed  Butler  and  Harman 


DANIEL  DOONE.  Ii; 

an'  a  lot  o'  others  a  waitin'  in  the  road,  so  I  hid  in  the 
bush  ontil  he  come  along,  an'  then  I  seed  them  pull 
him  off  n  his  horse,  an'  they  wos  fightin'  together  and 
scrimmagin'  around  on  the  ground,  till  Boone,  he  got 
licked,  and  the  others  tied  him  up  and  put  him  on  his 

horse  and  took  him  off  " 

Here  he  stopped. 
"  Tell  the  rest,  yei  varmint !  " 

'  Be  silent,  Mike,"  said  Harry  sternly.    "  Go  on,  my 
lad,  you  are  earning  your  half-crown." 

"  Well,  Mister,  I  follered  'em  for  mor'n  a  mile.  Fust 
they  turned  off  the  road  just  beyant  the  bridge  over 
Piny  Creek,  an'  then  they  took  him  about  half  a  mile 
into  the  woods,  an'  there  there's  a  kind  of  hole  in  the 
rock  as  big  as  a  room,  and  they  put  him  in  there,  an' 
three  of  'em  stayed  to  watch  outside  while  the  rest 
rode  off  as  fast  as  they  could — an'  give  you  my  word 
that's  all  I  knows  about  it — give  me  my  half-crown." 

Harry  laughed,  and  gave  him  a  half-crown,  as  he  had 
promised,  to  which  both  Hardeman  and  Rafe  Slaughter 
each  added  another,  whereupon  the  boy  pocketed  the 
three  coins,  and  with  a  kick  up  of  his  foot  by  way  of 
courtesy  to  the  gentlemen,  and  a  sneer  at  Mike, 
dashed  down  the  road  into  the  village,  and  was  lost 
to  sight. 

"  The  red-headed  divil !  "  said  Mike,  as  he  fled.  "  He 
knows  more'n  that  or  my  name  isn't  Mike  Dooley." 

"  Well,"  said  Rafe,  "  if  he  knows  that,  and  has  told 
the  truth,  it's  enough  for  our  purpose.  Now  let  us  set 
put." 


Il8       LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  DANIEL  BOONE. 

To  this  suggestion  the  other  members  of  the  party 
offered  no  objection,  and  in  five  minutes  they  were 
on  their  horses  cantering  at  a  sharp  speed  up  the  hill 
in  the  direction  from  which  they  had  come  the  day 
previous. 


CHAPTER  VII!. 

Wherein  the  Reader  becomes  the  witness  to  an  exciting  engagement,  and  tkc 
story  progresses  a  material  step  forward. 

THE  summer  passed,  the  grain  was  harvested,  the  au 
tumn  leaves  began  to  color  and  to  fall,  and  still  nothing 
was  heard  of  the  fate  of  Daniel  Boone,  either  at  his 
nome  on  the  Yadkin,  or  by  the  solicitous  family  at 
Mount  Mourne. 

Word  had  been  brought  occasionally  to  Squire 
O'Brien  of  the  party  who  had  set  forth  so  enthusias 
tically  for  his  rescue,  but  this  amounted  to  nothing  more 
than  that  success  had  not  met  their  endeavors,  and  that 
they  were  still  prosecuting  the  search. 

Even  such  slight  information  had  now  failed  during 
many  weeks,  and  much  anxiety  was  felt  at  Mount 
Mourne,  where  were  still  gathered  the  guests  whom 
we  have  already  mentioned  as  visiting  there  in  the 
spring. 

It  was  the  close  of  a  dreary  day  late  in  December , 
a  heavy  rain-storm,  lasting  for  several  days,  had  over 
run  the  small  streams  in  western  North  Carolina,  anc 
the  valleys  were  in  some  instances  flooded.  Dull, 
leaden-hued  clouds  rested  low  down  on  the  hill-tops  ; 
the  trees  drained  water  from  every  twig  ;  such  roads  as 
there  were  had  now  become  nearly  impassable. 


120  TttE-UFE  AND  TtAfZS  Of 

On  the  side  of  a  hill,  %>ome  fifty  rods  above  a  small 
water -course,  now  swollen  and  turbulent  from  the 
storm,  stood  a  small  log  hut,  from  the  openings  in 
which,  that  answered  for  windows,  could  be  seen  the 
only  light  to  be  discerned  for  miles  around.  The  place 
was  secluded,  on  a  road  seldom  traveled,  and  lonely. 

In  the  first  of  the  two  rooms  into  which  this  rude 
dwelling  was  divided,  a  large  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth 
stone,  and  afforded  all  the  light  there  was,  but  that  in 
quite  sufficient  quantity  for  the  necessities  of  the  three 
occupants  of  the  apartment. 

Of  these  three,  two  have  not  been  before  presented 
to  the  reader.  One  was  a  short,  heavily-built  and  mus 
cular-looking  man  of  middle  age,  whose  features  were 
repulsive,  and  whose  thick  dark  hair  was  matted  over 
his  forehead,  while  a  heavy  beard,  untrimmed,  made  his 
face  still  more  unpleasing.  His  companion  was  younger, 
and  beardless,  but  with  a  form  that  displayed  the  ma 
terial  for  considerable  strength  and  nervous  activity. 

Both  were  clad  in  homespun,  and  the  elder  man  ex 
hibited  in  the  belt  around  his  waist  a  heavy  horse-pis 
tol.  Against  the  side  of  the  room  near  them  rested 
two  rifles. 

These  two  men  were  lying  on  the  hearth  in  front  of 
the  fire  ;  the  elder  one  smoking,  the  other  not  occupied 
in  any  way. 

Ten  feet  away  from  them,  in  the  shadow,  there  lay 
on  a  pile  of  straw  the  figure  of  a  tall  man,  apparently 
sleeping.  His  head  was  resting  upon  one  arm  and  his 
eyes  were  closed. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  121 

A  blast  of  wind  of  unusual  violence  suddenly  burst 
open  the  door  of  the  dwelling,  startling  the  two  men 
on  the  hearth,  who  sprang  to  their  feet,  while  the 
rain  poured  in  through  the  opening  in  torrents. 

"  Curse  the  wind  ! "  said  the  stout  man,  as  he  hur 
ried  to  the  door  and  closed  it. 

"  No  need  for  you  to  move,"  he  continued,  as,  turn 
ing  at  a  sound  in  the  corner,  he  observed  that  the  man 
lying  there  had  risen  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  was  gaz 
ing  at  him. 

The  man  was  Daniel  Boone ;  but  so  altered  in  his 
appearance,  so  cadaverous  in  his  features,  and  worn 
and  depressed  in  his  expression,  that  he  could  hardly 
have  been  recognized. 

In  his  present  posture,  it  could  be  seen  that  he  was 
chained  to  one  of  the  logs  which  formed  the  side  of  the 
cabin,  the  chain  being  fastened  to  a  strong  leathern  belt 
which  encircled  his  waist. 

His  arms  were  free,  as  also  his  lower  limbs.  Around 
his  neck  was  tied,  by  the  sleeves,  a  heavy  homespun 
coat.  Otherwise,  he  was  dressed  in  his  usual  buckskin 
hunting -shirt  and  leggings.  On  his  feet  were  moc 
casins. 

"  I  only  looked, '  he  said,  in  answer  to  the  speech  of 
the  other. 

"  Well,  don't  look ! "  growled  the  latter,  as  having 
turned  in  the  massive  lock  the  cumbrous  key  and  be 
stowed  the  latter  in  his  pocket,  he  returned  to  his  place 
by  the  hearth. 

Boone  laid  down  again  and  was  quiet. 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

For  a  few  minutes  there  was  silence,  except  that  from 
the  apartment  in  the  rear  could  be  heard  the  sound  oi 
snoring,  and  that  apparently  of  several  persons.  This 
noise  was  indeed  so  audible  in  the  stillness,  that  presently 
the  younger  man  of  the  two  by  the  fire  growled  out : 

"  Confound  those  fellows  !  Why  can't  they  sleep 
quietly  !  There's  no  need  to  make  such  a  row  !  " 

"  They're  lucky  to  be  able  to  sleep  at  all,"  said  his 
companion.  "  I  have  had  so  much  of  this  sort  of  thing 
that  I  can't  sleep  when  I  try  to." 

"  You've  had  no  more  of  it  than  I  have,"  muttered 
the  other. 

"  Yes,  but  you've  had  a  lay-off  of  two  weeks,  while 
I've  been  here  ever  since  the  last  week  in  March,  and 
now  we  are  close  on  to  Christmas." 

"  That's  so  ;  but  my  outing  did  me  very  little  good. 
It  takes  so  infernally  long  to  get  anywhere  from  this 
out-of-the-way  place.  I  was  only  four  days  in  Hillsbor- 
ough,  and  two  of  them  were  taken  up  by  Roberts  with 
his  blasted  directions  and  injunctions." 

"  How  much  longer  do  you  suppose  we  are  going  to 
have  to  keep  up  this  watch  ?  "  said  the  stout  man,  ris 
ing  up  on  his  elbows. 

"  Well,  you  know  as  much  about  it  as  I  do.  I  asked 
Butler  when  he  came  this  afternoon,  but  he  was  dead 
tired,  and  wouldn't  give  me  any  satisfaction,  if  he  knew 
anything,  which  I  doubt." 

"  How  many  came  in  with  him  ?  "  said  the  other, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "  I  was  out,  you  know,  when 
thev  grot  ber*»  *' 


DANIEL  BOONE. 


123 


"  There  were  six  in  all.  Butler  and  Cox,  Inwood 
Charley  Cleeves,  and  two  others  I  don't  know." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  they  come  for  ?  " 

"  Well,  Butler  said  something  about  taking  him 
away/'  and  he  jerked  his  thumb  toward  the  corner 
where  Boone  was  now,  to  judge  from  his  heavy  breath- 
ing,  apparently  sleeping  quietly.  "  I  suspect  that  they've 
got  orders  to  take  him  down  to  the  coast  and  ship  him 
somewhere." 

If  there  had  been  any  one  present  remarking  Boone 
at  this  moment,  he  would  have  had  a  suspicion  as  to 
the  depth  of  his  somnolency.  There  was  perceptible 
a  slight  movement  of  the  eyelids,  while  one  of  his  hands 
clenched  with  a  quick  muscular  movement. 

"  I  hope  to  God  they  will,"  said  the  stout  man.  "  I've 
had  all  the  watching  of  him  I  want." 

"  Well,  he  don't  give  much  trouble,"  observed  the 
other. 

"  No  ;  he  don't  get  much  chance.  But,  I  tell  you,  if 
he  wasn't  watched  close,  he  would  get  autside  of  this 
here  cabin  quicker'n  lightning." 

To  this  remark  the  other  made  no  response,  but 
changed  his  position  for  an  easier  one,  and  was  appar 
ently  making  preparations  for  repose. 

His  companion,  observing  this,  presently  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  going  to  a  rude  table  near  the  door,  helped 
himself  to  a  portion  of  the  contents  of  a  jug  which  had 
been  placed  there,  using  for  the  purpose  a  small  pipkin 
which  stood  beside  it. 

Swallowing  the  strong  liquor  which  he  had  poured 


124  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

out  at  a  draught,  he  wiped  his  mouth  on  his  sleeve, 
and  then  crossed  the  room  to  where  Boone  was  lying. 

He  stood  still  for  perhaps  the  space  of  a  minute 
watching  him.  Not  a  quiver  in  the  hunter's  counte 
nance  betokened  wakefulness.  Apparently  satisfied,  the 
man  returned  to  his  position  by  the  fire,  and  having 
thrown  a  fresh  log  on  it,  proceeded  to  bestow  himself 
comfortably.  In  a  few  moments  both  he  and  his  com 
panion  were  sound  asleep. 

Excepting  the  heavy  breathing  of  the  sleepers  in 
both  rooms,  there  was  nothing  now  to  be  heard  to  dis 
tract  the  attention  of  any  one  listening  from  the  vio 
lence  of  the  storm  without. 

This  had  become  gradually  more  severe,  and  it  seemed 
that  there  was  now  blowing  a  tornado ;  while  the  furious 
dash  of  the  rain  in  heavy  sheets  of  water  against  the 
sides  and  upon  the  roof  of  the  cabin,  produced  a  con 
fusion  of  noise. 

For  several  minutes  the  hunter  continued  to  lie 
quietly.  Then  he  suddenly  lifted  his  head  so  that 
his  face  was  turned  toward  the  side  of  the  cabin  near 
est  him.  A  moment  after  he  raised  himself  cautiously 
on  one  elbow,  and  appeared  in  the  act  of  listening. 

To  listen  with  the  hope  of  hearing  anything  except 
the  raging  of  the  tempest  would  seem  to  be  futile,  yet 
to  the  long-accustomed,  though  of  late  unpracticed  ear 
of  the  hunter,  there  seemed  to  be  something  stirring 
outside  the  cabin  which  was  not  the  wind  nor  the  rain. 

The  heavy  limbs  of  the  trees  in  the  forest  about 
creaked  and  groaned,  but  it  was  not  that.  Occasion- 


DANIEL  HOONE.  12$ 

ally  a  boulder  of  fragment  of  rock,  dislodged  from  its 
fastness  at  the  summit  of  the  hill,  dashed  heavily 
through  the  woods  with  a  fierce  crash,  and  rolled  dowr. 
into  the  valley  below — but  it  was  not  that. 

Close  to  his  listening  ear  could  be  heard  a  grating 
sound,  and  so  acute  was  the  hearing  of  the  hunter,  that 
in  a  moment  he  had  discovered  nearly  the  exact  point 
whence  the  sound  appeared  to  emanate. 

The  cabin  being  built  in  an  exposed  position,  had 
been  carefully  constructed  for  protection  from  the  ele 
ments.  The  seams  between  the  logs  had  been  caulked 
hrith  clay,  which  had  hardened  like  stone.  The  roof 
tvas  double,  similarly  protected,  and  the  whole  struct 
ure  was  impervious  to  water. 

The  sound  which  had  aroused  Boone  from  his  pre 
tended  sleep  grew  perceptibly  louder,  although  it  could 
not  have  been  heard  by  any  ordinary  ear  at  a  distance 
of  three  feet. 

The  deduction  was  inevitable  ;  the  cause  was  coming 
nearer. 

In  another  moment,  by  the  brilliant  light  of  the 
newly -replenished  fire,  the  quick  eye  of  the  hunter 
perceived  a  portion  of  the  hardened  clay  between  the 
logs  next  to  him  apparently  cracking. 

He  made  no  movement,  but  watched. 

Then  the  crack  opened  wider,  and  the  point  of  a 
steel  instrument  could  be  seen  evidently  being  pushed 
toward  him,  though  it  was  speedily  withdrawn. 

The  scene  was  becoming  an  interesting  one.  The 
hunter  had  gradually  turned  over  on  his  knees,  ind 


126  TtiE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

was  now  resting  on  his  two  hands,  his  head  extended, 
and  his  glistening  eyes  fixed  on  the  crack  opened  be- 
tween  the  logs. 

It  was  certain  to  his  mind  that  this  must  be  the  work 
of  friends,  and  that  something  more  was  to  follow. 

Something  did  follow. 

A  twisted  piece  of  paper  was  thrust  through  the 
opening.  Looking  quickly  toward  his  sleeping  guards 
Boone  seized  it  and  opened  it  eagerly. 

The  hunter,  though  illy  educated,  and  to  a  consid 
erable  degree  illiterate,  could  read  plain  writing,  which 
fortunately  happened  to  be  the  nature  of  the  present 
missive. 

Its  contents  were  as  follows  : 

"  Use  this  as  speedily  as  possible  and  wait  events.  Da 
what  you  can  to  help  us.  It  may  be  your  last  chance. 

"  FRIENDS." 

Even  as  he  completed  reading  this  brief  note,  which 
he  at  once  bestowed  about  his  person,  something  else 
was  passed  through  the  crack. 

Still  watching  the  two  men  by  the  fire,  Boone  grasped 
it  with  one  hand  and  pulled  it  through.  It  proved  to 
be  a  strong  file. 

The  storm,  so  far  from  lessening,  seemed  to  increase 
in  violence,  and  the  noise  was  deafening.  Under  its 
cover  Boone  began  at  once  to  file  the  link  of  his  chain 
which  attached  it  to  the  belt. 

The  tool  was  perfectly  adapted  for  the  quickest  work 


DANIEL  BOONE.  12; 

of  this  nature,  and  a  very  few  minutes  made  an  impres. 
sion  on  the  iron.  In  fact,  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  the  hunter  had  filed  through  the  link  and  was 
freed  from  the  chain. 

Properly  supposing  that  his  movements  were  watched 
from  without,  through  the  crack,  he  now  passed  the  file 
through,  thus  signifying  that  his  part  of  the  work  was 
completed.  The  instrument  was  seized  on  the  other 
side  and  drawn  without. 

Just  at  this  moment  a  movement  on  the  part  of  the 
elder  of  the  two  guards,  made  Boone  drop  quickly  into 
his  previous  position,  and  appear  to  be  still  deep  in 
sleep.  The  one  who  moved  turned  restlessly  about 
for  an  instant  and  then  rose  to  a  sitting  posture  and 
looked  steadily  toward  the  prostrate  form  of  the  hunt 
er.  He  appeared  satisfied,  and  with  a  glance  at  his 
companion  to  see  that  he  was  sleeping,  he  returned  to 
his  former  position. 

The  windows  in  the  cabin,  to  which  we  have  alluded, 
were  square  openings  about  eighteen  inches  in  diam 
eter  each  way,  two  in  number,  and  placed  immediately 
under  the  projecting  eaves,  where  they  were  completely 
protected  from  any  possibility  of  rain  coming  into  the 
room.  One  of  these  openings  was  closed  by  a  shutter, 
the  other  was  open. 

Boone's  attention  was  presently  directed  toward  the 
open  window  by  a  slight  scratching  sound,  which  seemed 
to  come  from  that  direction. 

His  two  guards  were  now  evidently  fast  asleep,  and 
he  had  no  hesitation  in  raising  himself  to  a  posturt 


128  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

which  would  facilitate  instant  movement  on  his  part  i( 
it  should  become  necessary. 

Already  he  was  engaged  in  forming  his  own  plan  ol 
operations,  which  must,  however,  of  course,  depend  ma 
terially  on  the  course  pursued  by  his  friends  without. 

The  nature  of  the  first  step  on  their  part  was  now 
made  obvious.  The  head  of  a  man  appeared  at  the 
opening,  and  a  quick  glance  was  thrown  by  him  about 
the  room  to  gain  a  correct  idea  of  the  situation.  The 
head  was,  of  course,  in  the  shadow,  and  Boone  could 
not  discern  the  features. 

Now  a  hand  appeared  through  the  opening  and  beck 
oned  Boone  to  approach.  Satisfied  that  it  was  safe  for 
him  to  move,  he  arose  to  his  feet  and  crossed  the  room, 
noiselessly,  until  he  stood  beneath  the  window.  Then 
a  voice  said : 

"  Can  you  open  the  door  ?  " 

Boone  shook  his  head  and  pointed  to  the  stout  man 
by  the  fire  who  had  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

But  at  this  juncture  the  latter  moved,  and  before 
Boone  could  return  to  his  place,  he  had  opened  his 
eyes  and  saw  the  situation.  But  even  as  he  gathered 
his  muscles  together  to  spring  to  his  feet  the  hunter 
quicker  than  the  thought  which  impelled  him,  threw 
himself  upon  him  and  clutched  him  by  the  throat. 

There  was  a  momentary  struggle  —  silent,  though 
deadly.  Then  the  stout  man's  head  fell  back  on  his 
shoulders,  his  face  became  purple,  and  he  lay  insensible 
en  the  floor. 

To  turn  him  on  his  side  and  snatch  the  key  from  his 


DANIEL  BOON E.  129 

pocket  was  the  work  of  an  instant.  Another  brought 
the  hunter  to  the  door  and  the  key  in  the  lock.  It  was 
turned  quickly.  The  bolt  shot — but  before  Boone  could 
lift  the  latch  which  still  held  the  door,  the  younger 
man,  startled  by  the  noise  of  the  key,  had  awakened 
and  was  on  his  feet. 

Quick  as  lightning,  he  seized  his  rifle  and  brought  it 
to  his  shoulder.  The  hunter  saw  there  was  no  time  to 
open  the  door,  and  sprang  to  one  side  as  the  piece 
exploded. 

In  another  moment  he  had  thrown  himself  upon  the 
man  and  dashed  him  to  the  floor.  Before  he  could 
recover  himself,  Boone  snatched  the  remaining  rifle 
from  its  place  against  the  wall — and  not  a  moment  toa 
soon — for,  aroused  by  the  explosion,  amid  a  confusion 
of  shouts  and  noise,  the  whole  body  of  men  in  the 
back  room  poured  through  the  door — but  stood  for  a 
single  instant  aghast  as  they  saw  the  figure  of  the  now 
thoroughly  aroused  hunter  standing  with  the  rifle  in 
his  hand. 

The  pause  was  momentary,  however,  for  the  fiast  one 
drew  his  pistol  from  his  belt  and  fired.  There  was  no 
time  for  aim,  and  the  bullet  went  wide  of  the  mark. 

At  that  instant  the  door  was  burst  open,  and  Harry 
Calvert  and  Hardeman,  both  armed  with  rifles,  sprarg 
over  the  threshold  ;  behind  them  could  be  seen  the 
figure  of  Rafe  Slaughter,  swinging  in  his  right  hand  a 
long-handled  axe,  which  he  had  taken  from  the  wood 
pile  outside ;  while  Mike  Dooley  brought  up  the  reaf 
armed  with  a  horse-pistol. 
<>* 


130 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 


The  other  party  had  returned  to  the  room  where 
they  had  been  sleeping  and  got  their  rifles,  and  one  of 
them,  a  powerful  man,  was  in  the  act  of  covering  Harry 
Calvert,  when  a  shot  from  Boone's  rifle  brought  him  to 
the  floor. 

The  others  fired  now  in  quick  succession,  and  Harde- 
man  had  time  only  to  deliver  his  shot  when  he  fell  to 
the  floor  slightly  wounded. 

The  young  man  who  had  been  thrown  by  Boone  had 
recovered  his  feet  and  taken  one  of  the  pistols  from 
the  belt  of  his  companion,  and  the  disabling  of  one  of 
their  number  left  Calvert's  party,  with  Boone,  to  en 
counter  seven  men  well  armed  and  determined. 

The  situation  would  have  seemed  hopeless,  but  at 
this  juncture  Rafe  Slaughter,  thrusting  the  others  aside, 
dashed  into  the  midst  of  the  opposing  party  with  his 
axe,  striking  wildly  to  right  and  left,  his  long  arms 
and  powerful  muscles  enabling  him  to  wield  the  terrible 
weapon  with  the  strength  of  a  giant. 

First  one  fell  and  then  another,  while  Harry  and 
Mike  emptied  their  pieces  into  two  more. 

The  struggle  was  now  more  equal. 

The  cabin  was  so  filled  with  smoke  that  one  could 
hardly  separate  friend  from  enemy;  but  Boone, rushing 
to  the  assistance  of  Rafe,  with  his  rifle  clubbed,  dealt 
blows  hither  and  thither,  and  as  the  others  followed 
his  example,  in  a  few  moments  the  entire  party  of 
Boone's  captors  were  hors  de  combat. 

An  examination  of  the  field  after  the  victors  had 
taken  breath,  showed  Thomas  Hardeman  wounded  by  a 


DANIEL  ZOONE.  131 

ball  which  had  ploughed  through  his  scalp  and  stunned 
him  ;  and  on  the  other  side,  two  shot  dead,  one  with 
a  bullet  through  his  lungs,  and  evidently  hopelessly 
wounded  ;  and  the  one  whom  Boone  had  first  attacked 
and  strangled  also  dead.  The  remaining  four,  two  of 
whom  were  insensible,  had  been  badly  beaten  about 
the  head  and  face  with  Rafe's  axe  and  the  clubbed 
rifles. 

A  hunt  was  at  once  made  for  ropes,  and  those  who 
were  injured  were  securely  tied. 

Next  a  hurried  consultation  was  held,  and  it  was 
determined  to  wait  till  daybreak,  and  then  set  forth 
toward  Squire  O'Brien's,  which  lay  about  a  hundred 
miles,  as  near  as  they  could  guess,  to  the  north-east  of 
where  they  then  were. 

Leaving  Mike  to  watch,  the  others  lay  down  by  the 
fire  to  take  needed  rest  after  their  arduous  efforts  and 
the  excitement  of  the  fight. 

Very  few  words  of  explanation  passed  between  them, 
and  all  except  the  hunter  were  soon  wrapped  in  deep 
slumber. 

He,  quite  unable  to  sleep,  and  not  needing  repose, 
Declined,  thinking  over  the  occurrences  of  the  night, 
and  taking  upon  himself  the  attitude  of  watcher,  for 
Mike's  eyes  soon  grew  heavy,  and  his  usefulness  in  that 
capacity  became  more  apparent  than  real. 

The  hours  that  passed  before  daybreak,  witnessed  a 
lull  in  the  storm,  and  when  the  hunter  aroused  his  com- 
panions,  the  weather  was  beginning  to  clear,  though  it 
still  rained.  It  took  but  little  time  to  make  all  prepa- 


132       LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  DANIEL  BOONS. 

rations  for  the  start,  the  horses  of  Calvert's  party  being 
found  where  they  had  been  tied  to  trees  under  the  lee 
of  a  projecting  rock  a  short  distance  from  the  cabin. 

All  mounted,  Boone  riding  double  with  the  Irishman, 
who  had  the  strongest  and  heaviest  steed.  Nothing 
could  be  found  of  the  horses  belonging  to  their  recent 
antagonists,  and  there  was  not  time  for  an  extended 
learch. 

The  party  then  set  forth  on  their  journey. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Christmas  Eve  and  a  Christmas  present.  With  some  reflections  on  the  phi- 
losophy  of  the  tender  passion,  and  illustrations  from  the  characters  of  thi» 
story.  Concluding  with  a  catastrophe,  and  the  downfall  of  "  great  expec 
tations." 

THE  Christmas  holidays  opened  gloomily  at  Mount 
Mourne.  This  day,  so  important  as  a  festival  among 
our  ancestors,  equally  in  the  Colonies  with  the  old 
country,  promised  in  the  present  instance,  and  among 
those  in  whom  our  interest  now  lies,  to  be  but  little 
like  its  predecessors. 

At  Mount  Mourne  it  had  always  been  customary  to 
sustain  the  festivities  at  this  season  with  great  liberality 
and  hospitality.  The  negroes  looked  forward  to  it  al 
most  from  one  year  to  another.  Gifts  were  made  in  all 
directions,  the  great  house  was  illuminated,  the  farm 
hands  were  treated  to  a  banquet,  at  which  venison, 
buffalo  meat,  and  wild  t.irkeys  were  served  without 
limit,  while  home-brewed  ale,  after  the  old  country 
fashion,  was  distributed  with  equal  freedom. 

Of  course,  none  of  the  ordinary  details  of  hospitality 
could  be  neglected  ;  no  matter  with  what  heavy  hearts 
the  hosts  might  set  about  it,  and  heavy  indeed  their 
hearts  were.  The  two  young  men,  from  whom  nothing 
had  been  heard  for  many  weeks,  were  favorites  wher 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

ever  they  were  known,  and  their  loss  was  specially  felt 
in  the  mansion  at  this  season. 

Excepting  the  banquet  and  the  distribution  of  gifts, 
to  which  we  have  alluded,  it  was  determined  that  no 
festivities  should  be  held,  and,  contrary  to  custom, 
no  guests  had  been  invited  save  those  already  known 
to  us. 

Maude  had  occupied  her  time,  with  such  assistance 
as  she  could  obtain  from  Mile.  Raimonde,  aided  by  the 
negro  girls  attached  to  the  household,  in  decking  the 
principal  apartments  with  evergreens,  and  in  this  em 
ployment  she  found  a  simple  but  agreeable  distraction 
from  her  dreary  thoughts. 

To  her,  Harry's  prolonged  absence,  without  explana 
tion,  was  especially  painful. 

She  was  forced  to  be  divided  between  two  opinions, 
either  of  which  was  sufficiently  unpleasant :  One,  that 
he  had  met  with  some  accident  or  disaster  which  pre 
vented  him  from  communicating  with  her ;  the  other, 
that  she  had  passed  out  of  his  mind  to  that  degree  that 
he  did  not  care  to  afford  her  any  information  as  to  his 
whereabouts. 

It  is  a  peculiarity  of  a  certain  quality  of  the  human 
mind  in  such  circumstances,  to  attribute  the  worst  and 
the  most  unlikely  motive. 

To  one  who  loves,  there  would  seem  to  be  a  painful 
pleasure  in  doubting  the  absent  loved  one.  This  is  one 
of  those  psychological  disturbances  that  are  not  easily 
accounted  for  by  the  ordinary  regulations  which  gov 
ern  mental  impressions.  An  explanation  may  posst 


DANIEL  BOONE.  135 

bly  be  found  in  the  fact  that  in  the  exalted  condition 
occasioned  by  the  passion  of  love,  every  temperamental 
peculiarity  becomes  sublimated ;  not  even  that  of  sus 
picion  being  exempt  from  the  change.  Meanwhile,  the 
test  of  experience  goes  to  show  that  the  abnormal  in 
crease,  or  elevation  of  a  dominant  passion,  is  always  to 
be  viewed  with  doubt,  since  it  generally  exaggerates. 

Poor  Maude,  however,  did  not  analyze   either  her 
sentiments  or  their  motives,  and  was  greatly  inclined  to 
view  the  silence  of  her  lover  as  an  evidence  of  laxity  on 
his  part,  to  say  the  least,  and  to  consider  his  shortcom 
ing  with  a  not  unnatural  severity  in  consequence. 

The  day  of  Christmas  Eve  had  arrived,  and  all  prep- 
arations  for  the  holiday  were  completed.  It  was  late 
in  the  afternoon,  and  a  dull  drizzling  rain  not  only 
made  the  day  itself  specially  disagreeable,  but  fore 
boded  as  unpleasant  a  condition  for  the  one  to  follow. 

Maude  was  tired,  and  her  mind  distracted.  In  this 
state  her  thoughts  naturally  returned  to  the  subject 
which  had  so  much  occupied  them,  but  which  during 
the  time  of  her  labors  had  been  laid  aside. 

Feeling  unequal  to  conversation,  she  left  the  others 
of  the  family  party,  and  proceeded  to  the  piazza  in 
front  of  the  house,  almost  mechanically,  and  standing 
just  without  the  door  was  gazing  down  the  driveway 
to  the  road  and  to  the  bridge  where  we  first  introduced 
her. 

Her  mind  returned  to  that  occasion,  and  she  reflect 
ed  upon  the  happiness  which  she  had   felt  during  her 
excursion    >vi;h   her  then  undeclared  lover 


136  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

among  the  entrancing  scenes  of  nature  through  which 
their  horses'  feet  had  led  them. 

While  thus  engaged  in  reflection,  which,  under  the 
changed  aspect  of  the  scene,  could  not  but  be  dreary 
and  uncomfortable,  her  eyes  caught  sight  of  moving 
objects  in  the  distance  beyond  the  bridge. 

She  soon  saw  that  it  was  a  mounted  party  of  sev« 
eral  persons,  and  her  first  thought  was  that  some  unin 
vited  guests  had  taken  advantage  of  the  recognized 
hospitality  of  the  Squire,  and  had  come  to  pay  them  a 
Christmas  visit  unasked. 

Disturbed  by  this  conviction,  she  was  about  entering 
the  house  to  withdraw  herself  from  immediate  contact 
with  the  new-comers,  when  something  in  the  appearance 
of  the  approaching  travelers  made  her  pause. 

A  moment  later,  and  her  heart  seemed  to  rise  in  her 
throat,  while  her  cheeks  flushed  and  her  brows  throbbed 
as,  despite  his  changed  appearance,  she  recognized  in 
the  leader  of  the  approaching  party,  the  form  of  Harry 
Calvert. 

The  girl  stood  with  her  hands  clasped  before  her,  gaz 
ing  through  the  rain,  with  her  whole  soul  impressed 
and  her  heart  bounding  under  the  influence  of  the  sud 
den  and  unexpected  reaction. 

One  by  one  the  figures  became  distinct  before  her — 
Thomas  Hardeman,  the  secretary,  and  last  of  all  the 
heavy  black  horse  with  Mike  in  front  and  the  tall  figure 
of  one  unknown  to  her  riding  behind  him. 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  in  Maude  was  complete ; 
and  without  stopping  to  reflect  upon  the  storm,  she 


DANIEL  BOONE.  137 

hurriedly  flew  down  the  steps  of  the  piazza,  and 
straight  along  the  drive  to  meet  them. 

Harry  had  espied  her,  and  as  she  approached,  sprang 
from  his  horse,  which  he  left  to  find  its  own  way  whith 
er  it  might  choose,  while  he  met  the  girl  and  clasped 
her  in  his  arms  without  hesitation,  as  though  she  indeed 
already  belonged  to  him. 

The  others  came  quickly  up,  and  Maude,  to  recover 
herself  from  her  confusion,  as  she  extricated  herself  from 
Harry's  embrace,  went  from  one  to  another,  and  clasped 
their  hands,  while  she  warmly  welcomed  and  congratu 
lated  them  on  their  safe  return. 

Mike  was  as  cordially  received  as  any  of  them,  but 
she  hesitated  as  she  looked  up  into  the  sallow  face  of 
the  stranger. 

"  You  should  welcome  him,  Maude,"  said  Harry,  "  for 
this  is  Daniel  Boone,  the  innocent  cause  of  all  our  trou 
bles,  and  of  my  long  and  deeply  regretted  absence." 

Maude  hesitated  no  longer,  but  held  up  her  little 
hand,  which  was  bashfully  seized  by  the  pioneer. 

The  face  of  the  man  inspired  confidence  and  awaken 
ed  friendship,  and  with  a  few  gentle  words  which  implied 
recognition  of  his  hardships  and  appreciation  of  his 
good  qualities  at  once,  Maude  fled  back  to  the  house, 
for  the  first  time  perceiving  that  she  was  drenched  with 
rain  and  not  altogether  presentable  to  the  seniors  of 
the  family,  who  were  pretty  certain  to  presently  make 
their  appearance. 

In  fact,  before  she  could  reach  the  piazza,  they  were 
»U  there. 


138  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

The  wanderers  had  been  seen  by  some  of  the  negroes 
about  the  place,  and  word  had  been  carried  instantly  to 
the  heads  of  the  family. 

Maude  did  not  escape  a  severe  glance  from  Lady 
O'Brien,  as  she  flew  up  the  steps,  panting,  and  hasten- 
ed  to  her  apartment  to  change  her  dress ;  but  this  dis 
turbed  her  little,  and  a  moment  later  all  were  engaged 
in  welcoming  the  unexpected  arrivals. 

These  certainly  presented  a  motley  appearance. 

With  clothing  torn  and  weather-stained,  with  faces 
bronzed  by  exposure  to  the  elements,  and  unshaven  for 
many  months,  with  their  hair  unkempt  and  uncared  for 
and  straggling  over  their  shoulders,  their  looks  dis 
played  clearly  the  nature  of  the  hardships  they  had  en 
dured. 

Gladly  alighting  from  their  tired  steeds,  long  unused 
to  a  hearty  meal  of  their  customary  food,  and  to  the  care 
always  bestowed  upon  them,  our  friends  were  ushered 
within  the  dwelling,  whose  Christmas  decorations  now 
seemed  to  have  gained  a  new  freshness  and  even  a  new 
meaning  under  the  changed  aspect  of  affairs. 

As  they  stood  in  the  hall,  they  perceived  that  in 
their  present  state  they  would  be  out  of  place  in  the 
drawing-room  ;  and  Harry,  turning  to  the  Squire,  said : 

"  Uncle,  let  me  present  to  you  Daniel  Boo  tie,  to  ac 
complish  whose  rescue  this  expedition  was  undertaken, 
and  whose  presence  among  us  attests  our  success.  I 
wish  to  say,  that  since  we  have  known  him  our  gratifi 
cation  has  increased  that  we  attempted  and  effected 
his  escape.  He  is  worthy  of  all  our  trouble  and  more/ 


DANIEL  BOONS. 

While  this  little  speech  was  being  made  with  such 
emphasis  as  showed  the  speaker  meant  every  word  of 
it,  Boone  stood  with  his  hands  by  his  side  and  his  eyes 
dropped,  waiting  anxiously  for  it  to  be  concluded. 
When  Harry  had  finished,  Squire  O'Brien  extended 
his  hand,  and  with  the  dignified  manner  which  he  could 
easily  assume,  and  which  sat  well  upon  him,  offered 
his  congratulations  and  welcomed  the  hunter  to  his 
house. 

"  Make  your  stay  with  us  as  long  as  you  can,  Mr. 
Boone.  We  shall  be  sorry  to  have  you  go." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  very  heartily,  for  your  kind  recep 
tion.  It  adds  a  debt  to  the  one  I  owe  these  gentlemen 
who  have  done  so  much  for  me,  and  I  shall  never  die 
Jiappy  till  I  have  paid  off  some  of  it." 

Lady  O'Brien  joined  her  husband  in  a  kind  and 
graceful  welcome  to  the  hunter,  who  was  then  intro 
duced  to  Dr.  Bullock,  Mr.  and  Mme.  Rawlings  and 
Mile.  Raimonde. 

Boone  was  a  little  distracted  by  meeting  so  many  of 
the  gentry  at  once,  but,  on  the  whole,  kept  his  custom 
ary  equanimity  pretty  well. 

Mike,  in  the  meantime,  had  been  seized  by  the  other 
servants  and  hurried  around  to  their  quarters,  where 
we  may  well  leave  him  to  their  kindly  attentions,  while 
he  sets  forth  in  his  own  glowing  vernacular  to  a  crowd 
of  open-mouthed  and  excited  listeners  the  story  of  their 
perils  and  their  success. 

The  first  greetings  being  over,  Harry,  Thomas  Harde 
man,  and  Rafe  retired  to  the  apartments  assigned  them 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

to  make  so  much  of  a  toilet  as  was  practicable 
the  circumstances. 

The  Squire,  himself,  conducted  Boone  to  a  room, 
where  he  left  him,  to  go  and  search  among  his  owu 
clothing  for  something  that  would  temporarily  answer 
his  necessities. 

Harry  had  not  been  half  satisfied  with  the  hasty  em 
brace  which  he  had  obtained  from  the  girl  he  loved, 
and  as  he  sought  h's  room  looked  in  all  directions  for 
her  that  he  might  perchance  renew  it. 

In  this  he  was,  as  is  not  uncommonly  the  case  in 
such  instances,  assisted  by  the  maiden  herseh.  She 
had  changed  her  attire  with  unequaled  alacrity,  hoping 
or  just  such  an  opportunity,  and  as  her  lover  wended 
nis  way  through  the  long  upper  hall  with  as  much  noise 
as  he  could  accomplish,  the  door  of  her  room  opened 
and  she  made  her  appearance. 

Her  hair  was  still  wet  with  the  rain  and  her  cheeks 
flushed  with  her  recollections.  Her  eyes  glistened, 
and  all  her  appearance  showed  to  Harry  that  there 
was  no  change  in  her,  unless,  if  possible,  to  his  ad 
vantage. 

Seizing  her  by  both  hands,  he  impressed  a  kiss  upon 
her  willing  lips,  and  for  a  moment  neither  of  them 
spoke. 

Of  course,  Harry's  first  speech  was  that  idiotic  one 
which  has  probably  formed  the  preliminary  of  similar 
conversations  from  the  time  of  Adam  and  Eve  down. 

"Did  you  miss  me,  darling?"  observed  the  youth, 
with  such  perfect  innocence  in  his  countenance  as 


DANIEL  BOONE. 


141 


Would  deceive  the  elect  into  the  si  pposition  that  he 
was  in  doubt  as  to  her  reply. 

While  a  woman  always  expects  and  desires  this  ques 
tion,  she  is  always  tempted  to  say  "  No."  Maude  re- 
sisted  the  temptation,  and  supplied  in  its  stead  thf 
stereotyped  answer : 

"You  know  I  did!" 

As  there  was  really  no  doubt  in  Harry's  mind  that 
he  did  know  it,  he  did  not  seek  to  pursue  the  argument 
further  except  after  the  customary  silent,  but  eloquent 
fashion. 

Maude's  face  disappeared  on  his  shoulder,  and  would 
have  probably  remained  there  for  some  considerable 
while,  but  at  that  moment  voices  were  heard. 

The  girl  escaped  and  fled  to  her  room,  while  Harry 
walked  unconcernedly  whistling  down  the  hall. 

Half  an  hour  found  the  entire  party  congregated  in 
the  drawing-room,  where  the  story  of  the  pursuit  of 
Boone's  captors  and  his  rescue  at  the  log-cabin  on  the 
hill-side  was  told  graphically,  each  of  the  rescuers  tak- 
ing  his  share  in  the  narration. 

That  our  readers  may  be  as  well  informed  as  the 
auditors  on  this  occasion,  what  has  not  been  already 
here  written  may  be  recounted  briefly,  as  follows. 

The  cave  which  had  been  described  by  Mike's  pr&- 
tSg/,  had  been  readily  found,  but  when  found  was  un 
occupied.  The  tracks,  however,  were  fresh,  and  being 
closely  followed  by  Harry  and  his  associates,  Boone's 
abductors  had  been  traced  some  twenty  miles,  when 
the  clew  had  failedt 


I42  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

From  this  point,  the  history  of  the  expedition  was 
one  of  slow  progress,  under  every  possible  disadvantage 
of  inexperience  on  the  one  side,  pitted  against  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  woodcraft  on  the  other. 

The  party  had  camped  out,  living  upon  what  they 
tould  shoot,  during  nearly  the  whole  of  the  summer  and 
early  fall,  only  relieved  from  this  kind  of  life  by  occa 
sionally  finding  an  outlying  farm  or  frontier  settlement. 

From  one  or  another  of  these  localities  they  occa 
sionally  gained  a  little  information  which  assisted  them 
in  their  search,  but  the  final  success  resulted  from  their 
having  come  upon  the  trail  of  the  party  which  had 
reached  the  log  hut  on  the  afternoon  before  the  capture. 

Following  these  men  at  a  safe  distance  Boone's 
friends  had  tracked  them  to  the  house  itself,  and  had 
hovered  about  the  place  until  darkness  had  made  a 
movement  practicable. 

This  was  briefly  the  story  told  at  Mount  Mourne, 
interrupted  constantly  by  questions  and  observations 
from  the  interested  listeners. 

When  the  narrative  was  concluded,  the  Squire  re- 
quested  the  presence  of  his  nephew,  with  Boone  and 
the  secretary,  in  his  library,  whither  they  accordingly 
proceeded,  and  being  seated,  Rafe  Slaughter  remarked 
that  the  time  had  now  come  for  him  to  explain  the 
nature  of  Judge  Anderson's  designs,  in  which  Boone 
was  to  become  important  as  an  instrument  in  conduct 
ing  them  to  a  successful  conclusion. 

Observing,  that  what  he  was  about  to  say  was  set 
forth  in  papers  in  his  charge;  and  which  could  be  pro- 


DANtEL  BOOftE.  143 

duced  if  necessary,  to  substantiate  it,  he  proceeded  in 
the  following  language : 

"  The  matter  in  question  is,  as  you  will  at  once  per. 
.  ceive,  of  grave  importance,  and  it  is  perhaps  unneces 
sary  for  me  to  say  that  my  communication  is  to  be  kept 
In  strict  confidence." 

The  others  bowed,  and  Rafe  continued  : 

"  My  patron,  Judge  Anderson,  having  been  thorough, 
ly  informed  by  his  correspondents  in  England  concern 
ing  the  prospects  for  emigration  to  the  Colonies,  has 
devised  a  scheme  for  the  purchase  of  enormous  tracts 
of  land  beyond  our  present  frontier. 

"  Having  associated  with  him  a  number  of  gentlemen, 
Uke  himself  the  possessors  of  large  means,  he  designs 
to  organize  a  country  and  a  government  ;  but  with  no 
intent  to  defraud  the  natives,  and  especially  desiring  to 
avoid  any  bitterness  of  feeling  on  the  part  of  tribes  at 
present  at  peace  with  the  Colonists,  he  purposes  calling 
the  chiefs  together  at  some  point  and  time  to  be  here 
after  designated,  and  to  establish  with  them  a  treaty, 
and  obtain  by  amicable  and  honest  means  the  land 
which  he  desires. 

"  Unacquainted  as  he  is  with  the  nature  of  the  coun 
try,  it  is  essential  that  some  well-qualified  person  should, 
in  the  first  instance,  proceed  in  that  direction  and  ob 
tain  the  requisite  knowledge  regarding  it. 

"  For  this  purpose,  he  has  selected  our  friend 
Boone,  who,  at  a  meeting  with  the  Judge  last  March, 
consented  to  act  in  the  capacity  of  pioneer,  but 
without  being  fully  informed  as  to  the  direction  in 


144  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

which  he  was  to  go,  or  the  nature  of  the  objects  he 
was  to  subserve. 

"  I  am  authorized  to  make  all  the  necessary  arrange 
ments  for  forwarding  the  enterprise  at  the  earliest  prac 
ticable  moment ;  and  have  among  the  papers  in  my 
possession  general  directions  as  to  the  route  to  be  fol 
lowed,  so  far  as  it  is  possible  to  lay  it  down  in  the 
beginning. 

"  At  the  point  where  our  knowledge  of  the  country 
ends,  the  most  material  part  of  Boone's  task  commences ; 
and  after  that  he  is  to  be  left  untrammeled  to  his  own 
resources. 

"  According  to  the  arrangement  which  I  have  already 
related,  Boone  is  to  gather  a  party  of  five  or  six  ener 
getic  and  experienced  frontiersmen  to  accompany  him, 
but  these  are  not  to  be  made  acquainted  with  Judge 
Anderson's  designs. 

"  My  letter  to  you,  sir,"  he  continued,  addressing  him 
self  to  Squire  O'Brien,  "  gave  you,  I  believe,  an  oppor 
tunity  to  become  interested  in  this  enterprise.  I  should 
be  glad  to  know  your  conclusion  with  regard  to  it." 

The  Squire  rose,  and  walked  the  length  of  the  room 
two  or  three  times,  musing,  before  he  replied.  Then 
he  said : 

"  So  far  as  my  friend's  plan  has  been  >et  forth — ar.d 
what  I  hear  now  is  about  what  he  wrote  me — I  am  in 
entire  accord  with  it. 

"  I  have  given  it  much  thought  this  summer,  and  have 
pretty  well  concluded  to  join  the  Judge  and  his  friends 
in  the  investment.  There  are  some  details,  however, 


DANIEL  BOONS.  14$ 

as  to  which  I  desire  to  be  inform  td,  and  I  shall  with 
hold  my  final,  conclusion  for  the  present ;  remarking, 
however,  in  a  general  way,  that,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  it 
will  be  favorable." 

"The  idea,  as  I  understand  it,"  said  Harry,  "  is  to 
buy  up  this  large  tract  of  land,  and  invite  immigrants 
to  go  there  and  make  settlements,  giving  them  certain 
advantages  as  to  cost,  etc." 

"  Yes.  That  is  it,"  said  Rafe.  "  But  there  is  more. 
I  don't  like  to  say  that  the  scheme  is  exactly  political, 
but  I  may  observe  that  the  Judge  expects  to  form 
an  organization  which  will,  in  some  degree,  have  a 
political  existence.  You  will  understand  that  this  is  a 
rather  ticklish  subject  to  dwell  upon,  and  the  simplest 
way  in  which  I  can  put  it  is,  that  the  design  includes 
the  formation  of  a  nationality,  even  the  name  erf  which 
has  been  concluded  upon  " 

"  And  that  is  ?  "  said  Harry. 

"  Transylvania." 

"  The  Kingdom  of  Transylvania,"  observed  Harry', 
thoughtfully. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Rafe.  "  You  have  added  to  it.  J  did 
not  say  kingdom." 

Harry  looked  surprised  and  the  Squire  serious.  Boone 
had  been  a  silent  listener. 

"  But  whether  it  is  to  be  a  kingdom,  republic,  or  oli 
garchy,"  continued  Rafe,  airily,  but  with  meaning,  "  is 
foreign  to  the  question  at  present. 

"  Now,  Boone,  you  have  heard  the  statement  and 
know  about  as  much  of  the  matter  as  I  can  tell  you. 
7 


146  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Are  you  still  willing  to  fulfill  your  undertaking  as  you 
expressed  it  to  Judge  Anderson  last  March  ?  " 

Boone  shifted  a  little  in  his  seat,  and  then  in  his 
quiet  way  replied  : 

"  Whatever  I  undertake  I  go  through  with,  if  I  can, 
If  I  understand  it,  the  Judge  wants  me  to  go  out  into 
the  open,  arid  look  about  till  I  find  the  kind  of  country 
he  wants,  so  as  to  be  able  to  describe  it  to  him,  and 
give  him  some  idee  as  to  what  kind  of  creatures  there 
are  in  it." 

"  That  is  about  it,"  said  Rafe. 

"  Do  you  know,  in  a  few  words,"  added  Boone,  "  about 
where  he  wants  me  to  go  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  He  expects  you  to  start  about  Clinch 
River,  and  get  through  the  mountains,  and  then  strike 
north-west  for  a  hundred  miles  or  so.  It  is  about  there 
he  means  to  begin  to  locate,  as  near  as  he  knows,  tak 
ing  in  territory  south  and  east  of  that  point." 

"  Well,  I  can  tell  him  what  he  will  meet  up  there," 
said  Boone,  "  though  I've  never  been  so  far  ;  but  there's 
buffalo  all  through  the  western  plains,  and  Injuns  the 
worst  kind.  Out  among  us  frontiersmen  that  country 
is  called  the  '  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground,'  for  they  do 
say  there's  been  more  fightin'  by  the  Injuns  them- 
selves  right  in  there,  an*  more  bloodshed  an'  more 
scalps  lifted,  than  in  four  times  the  amount  of  territory 
anywhere  else  in  North  America." 

"Then  it  is  going  to  be  dangerous  we rk,  I  should 
judge,"  said  the  Squire. 

"  Well,  it  is  going  to  be  lively,"  replied  Boone.    "A 


DANIEL  BOONE.  147 

man's  got  to  keep  his  mind  about  him  when  he's  out 
there,  pretty  continually. 

"  But  I  am  willing  to  undertake  it,  Mr.  Slaughter, 
just  as  I  said  in  the  beginning ;  and  I  can  find  up 
around  Yadkin  about  six,  or  five  of  just  the  men  I 
want,  and  some  of  'em  have  been  pretty  well  out  there 
already." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  on 
the  Squire  calling,  "  Come  in  ! "  a  servant  appeared 
with  a  letter,  which,  on  being  examined,  proved  to  be 
for  Harry  Calvert ;  one,  in  fact,  which  had  been  for 
warded  from  Baltimore  during  his  absence  in  the  woods. 

The  young  man  excused  himself,  and  opened  it.  In 
a  moment,  by  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  it 
could  be  seen  that  the  news  conveyed  was  important 
and  not  altogether  agreeable. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Harry,  my  boy  ? "  cried  the 
Squire. 

Harry  folded  the  letter  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket, 
then  he  said : 

"  My  Uncle  Fred  is  dead  !  " 

As  he  made  this  observation  Rafe  started  a  little, 
but  the  movement  was  not  noticed  by  the  others,  who 
were  intently  watching  Harry. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  said  the  Squire,  "  I  am  sorry  he  is 
dead  for  his  own  sake,  if  he  was  desirous  of  living, 
though  he  has  had  a  good  long  life  of  it  ;  but  I  hope 
we  may  congratulate  you  on  an  improvement  in  your 
fortunes." 

"  That  is  precisely  what  you  will  not  be  able  to  do, 


148  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Uncle,"  said  Harry,  in  a  low  voice,  and  looking  dowa 
*  My  letter  tells  me  that  he  has  bequeathed  his  entire 
private  fortune,  including  the  homestead,  and,  indeed, 
all  his  estates,  to  one  Gabriel  Herron,  who  is,  I  believe, 
a  cousin  of  mine,  the  son  of  Uncle  Fred's  sister." 

As  he  said  these  words  Rafe  rose  from  his  chair 
and,  crossing  the  room  hurriedly,  appeared  interested 
in  looking  at  something  through  the  window.  The 
others  looked  after  him  for  a  moment,  but  surmised 
that  he  had  made  the  movement  out  of  delicacy  con 
cerning  what  he  would  recognize  as  a  purely  family 
matter. 

The  Squire  was  quite  stunned  with  this  information, 
and  for  a  moment  could  think  of  nothing  to  say. 

He  perfectly  well  knew  of  Harry's  aspirations,  which 
he  personally  favored  ;  but  he  knew  also  that  this  break 
down  of  all  the  young  man's  hopes  would  be  a  death 
blow  to  his  chances  of  marrying  his  cousin  Maude. 

Lady  O'Brien,  he  was  certain,  would  now  be  deter 
mined  against  a  conclusion  which  she  had  always  looked 
upon  with  disfavor ;  and  whatever  might  be  his  predi 
lections,  the  Squire  was  too  easy-going  a  man  to  even 
think  of  opposing  his  wife  in  a  matter  which  concerned 
her  more  nearly  than  it  did  himself. 

With  a  sigh,  as  he  thought  of  the  sad  hearts  that 
would  result  from  this  unforeseen  situation,  he  braced 
himself  up  to  the  immediate  emergency.  A  little  more 
coolly  than  was  his  wont,  he  said  : 

"  Well,  Harry,  I  am  sorry,  of  course,  an$  you  knovi 
Anything  that  I  ga.i|  do  for  you  "-. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  149 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Harry,  rising.  "  I  know  perfectly 
well  you  will  be  very  sorry,  but  there's  nothing  to  be 
done  for  me  but  what  I  shall  do  myself.  Thanking  you 
all  the  same  for  the  offer.  Boone,"  he  said,  suddenly, 
"  whenever  you  are  ready,  I  wish  to  join  your  expedi 
tion  into  the  wilderness.  There's  nothing  left  for  me 
in  the  settlements." 

Rafe  had  turned  from  his  position  in  the  window 
and  seemed  about  to  say  something,  but,  on  considera 
tion,  changed  his  mind. 

The  hunter  held  out  his  hand  to  Harry,  and  said  : 

"  I  am  sorry  if  you  are  disappointed,  which,  as  I 
understand  it,  you  are,  about  getting  your  Uncle's 
property ;  but  never  mind,  you  are  a  young  man,  and 
if  you  go  out  with  me  I  am  sure  the  Judge,  who  is  gen 
erous,  will  see  that  you  sha'n't  suffer." 

Rafe  came  forward  at  this,  and  said,  emphatically : 

"  You  are  right  there,  Boone.  I  can  answer  for  the 
Judge  that  if  Mr.  Calvert  joins  in  his  enterprise,  he  will 
be  taken  care  of." 

"  I  suspect,"  said  the  Squire,  "  it's  about  the  best 
thing  you  can  do,  my  boy.  If  I  go  into  this  affair  my 
interests  shall  certainly  be  exerted  in  your  favor." 

Harry  bowed,  but  the  poor  fellow  was  quite  crest 
fallen,  and  now  made  a  movement  to  leave  the  room. 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said,"  added  the  Squire. 
"  You  all  understand  that  what  has  been  mentioned 
here  is  to  be  kept  quite  secret,  excepting  as  to  the  gen 
eral  fact  that  Boone  is  to  head  an  expedition  into  the 
wilderness  to  examine  the  country," 


150  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  That  is  it  exactly,"  said  Rafe,  and  upon  this  a 
general  movement  was  made  to  the  door. 

While  the  Squire  went  off  to  inform  his  wife  as  ta 
the  turn  of  affairs,  and  Rafe  drew  Boone  out  toward 
the  piazza,  where  he  held  him  in  conversation,  Harry 
retired  in  the  direction  of  his  room.  At  the  head  of 
the  stairs  he  met  Maude,  and  at  once  the  young  man's 
pent-up  feelings  overcame  him. 

With  every  appearance  of  anguish  in  his  counte« 
nance  he  grasped  her  hand,  and  while  the  girl  stood 
wondering  what  could  have  happened,  he  said  : 

"  My  dear  Maude,  a  terrible  calamity  has  come  upon 
me,  which  threatens  to  destroy  all  my  peace  of  mind 
and  our  promised  happiness." 

"  Harry  !  dear  Harry  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  What 
has  occurred  ?  " 

44  My  Uncle  in  Ireland  is  dead,  and  has  left  his  for. 
tune  to  my  Cousin  Gabriel  Herron." 

Maude  knew  as  well  as  any  one  how  much  depended, 
with  regard  to  Harry's  and  her  own  future,  upon  this 
act.  For  a  moment  she  was  overcome  ;  but  then  the 
natural  courage  of  the  girl  came  to  her,  and  lifting  her 
head,  she  cried  : 

"  Harry,  it  shall  make  no  difference.  I  have  givei 
my  promise  and  there  is  my  hand  on  it.  I  will  not 
retract,  nor  will  I  be  prevented  from  doing  what  it  is 
right  I  should  do.  I  am  yours,  promised  and  sworn, 
and  you  can  have  me  when  you  wish  me." 

Harry  broke  down  at  this  completely,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  was  unable  to  control  himself  sufficiently  to  responcj 


DANIEL  6OONE.  151 

to  the  noble  conduct  of  the  girl  he  loved.  He  could 
only  grasp  her  proffered  hand  and  draw  her  to  his  heart. 
After  a  moment,  he  said  : 

"My  darling,  if  I  hold  you  to  your  promise,  and  I 
don't  say  that  I  shall,  it  shall  not  be  to  your  injury 
Trust  me ! " 

"  You  must  hold  me  to  my  promise,"  she  said,  look 
ing  up.  "  For  you  would  not  make  me  out  an  untruth 
ful  girl,  for  the  mere  purpose  of  sustaining  an  unwhole 
some  pride.  I  say  again,  I  will  be  your  wife  whenevei 
you  wish  it." 

"  Maude !  "  said  a  stern  voice,  and  turning,  the  lovers 
saw  Lady  O'Brien,  who  had  approached  without  their 
tearing. 

"  Go  to  your  room,  girl !  I  am  ashamed  to  hear  you 
express  such  a  determination  in  such  language ;  and  as 
for  you,  Harry  Calvert  " 

"  Mother,  you  shall  not  insult  him.  He  is  my  prom 
ised  husband.  I  would  not  willingly  be  disrespectful 
to  you,  but  you  must  not  urge  me  too  far." 

"  Go  to  your  room,  Miss ! "  cried  Lady  O'Brien, 
white  with  passion. 

Harry  released  the  girl,  whispering  : 

"  Go,  Maude.  This  will  all  right  itself  in  time,  and 
now  that  I  know  how  you  feel,  nothing  that  is  said  can 
trouble  me.  Go,  dear ! " 

With  this  request  Maude  complied,  and  retired  to 
her  room. 

Lady  O'Brien  remained,  and  made  as  if  she  would 
speak  to  her  nephew  further ;  but  he,  with  a  low  bow 


1 52       LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  DANIEL  BOONE. 

passed  her  where  she  stood,  and  proceeded  to  his  own 
room. 

Hesitating  for  a  moment,  surprised  at  the  firm  atti 
tude  of  her  daughter  and  nephew,  her  Ladyship,  pres 
ently,  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  proceeded  down  the 
stairs,  and  joined  her  guests  in  the  drawing-room ; 
where  already  the  downfall  of  poor  Harry's  prospects 
was  being  thoroughly  canvassed. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Harry  Calvert  comes  to  a  determination,  and  the  Christmas  festivities  at  Moan, 
Mourne  to  an  abrupt  conclusion.  A  family  disturbance  and  a  sudden  sevei* 
ing  of  family  ties. 

As  though  by  a  general  understanding,  the  subject 
of  Harry's  misfortune  was  not  discussed  during  Christ 
mas-day,  which  was  devoted,  as  usual,  to  the  enjoyments 
customary  on  that  occasion  throughout  the  southern 
Colonies. 

The  news  of  the  return  of  Squire  O'Brien's  friends 
had  spread  among  the  few  neighboring  planters,  and 
some  of  these,  with  their  families,  rode  over  to  Mount 
Mourne  to  congratulate  the  family. 

All  day  a  great  bowl  of  egg-nog  stood  on  the  draw- 
ing-room  table,  and  was  visited  frequently  by  the  guests, 
who  became  sufficiently  hilarious  to  make  the  occasion 
enjoyable. 

During  the  day,  the  negro  hands  were  called  up  to 
the  great  house,  and  the  gifts  which  had  been  provided 
for  them  were  distributed.  These  comprised  blankets, 
shoes,  bandanna  handkerchiefs,  sides  of  bacon  and  hams, 
tea,  tobacco,  and  such  articles  of  clothing  as  were  ap 
propriate  to  their  condition  and  to  the  season.  To 
these  were  added,  in  certain  instances,  by  Lady  O'Brien 
and  Maude,  gifts  of  ribbons  and  fancy  articles  to  the 

young  girls,  and  toys  to  the  children. 

7*  (153) 


154  TffE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

At  night  a  pleasant  party  assembled  in  the  drawing, 
room,  where  immense  wood  fires  roared  up  the  chim. 
neys  and  gave  an  air  of  homelike  hospitality,  which 
could  hardly  have  otherwise  been  so  perfectly  assumed. 
Wine  and  punch  were  in  requisition,  and  with  these 
and  other  refreshments  the  assembled  guests  made 
themselves  happy  and  contented. 

On  the  following  morning  a  reaction  had  taken  place, 
and  when  all  met  at  breakfast,  there  could  not  but  be 
noticeable  a  gloomy  aspect  which  seemed  to  indicate 
the  feelings  of  those  present.  There  was  but  little  con 
versation  ;  but,  as  the  Squire  rose  from  the  table,  he 
requested  Harry's  presence  in  the  library,  whither  he 
was  at  once  followed  by  the  young  man. 

The  Squire  had  in  the  meantime  been  thoroughly 
instructed  by  his  wife,  and  the  customary  geniality  of 
his  nature  was  not  apparent  as  he  motioned  Harry  to 
a  seat,  and  closing  the  door,  took  one  himself. 

His  very  manner  of  opening  the  conversation  was  lit 
tle  calculated  to  reassure  the  young  man,  but  rather 
tended  to  stimulate  in  him  those  sentiments  of  opposi 
tion  which  had  already  been  awakened. 

"  Now,  Harry,  my  boy,  I  am  going  to  speak  frankly 
to  you,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Lady  O'Brien  has  informed 
me  of  an  interview  between  you  and  Maude,  which  she 
accidentally  interrupted,  the  day  before  yesterday,  and 
I  am  bound  to  say,  my  dear  fellow,  that  I  hardly  think 
you  have  commenced  by  treating  us  exactly  fairly  under 
the  circumstances." 

Harry  flushed  at  this  charge.    '  But.  sir—"  he  began. 


DANIEL  BOONS.  155 

The  Squire  held  up  one  hand. 

'••  Don't  interrupt  me,  please.  Perhaps  I  put  it  a  lit- 
tie  too  strongly.  Of  course,  I  don't  mean  to  accuse 
you  of  any  intentional  deviation  from  a  course  which 
would  be  correct,  and  much  should  be  excused,  I  am 
aware,  on  account  of  the  excitement  of  your  arrival, 
and  that,  also,  which  would  naturally  result  from  the 
bad  news  you  had  heard  ;  and  I  don't  mean  to  exoner 
ate  Maude  either — in  fact,  my  Lady  was,  if  anything, 
inclined  to  be  more  severe  with  her  than  with  your 
self." 

"  Uncle,"  interrupted  Harry,  "  you  must  know  that  I 
can  not  consent  to  retreating  from  anything  that  I  have 
done,  under  cover  of  an  accusation  against  Maude." 

"  No  No  !  I  perfectly  understand  that,"  and  the 
Squire  again  waved  his  hand  as  though  to  deprecate 
interruption.  "  All  I  mean,  is,  that  both  of  you  should 
have  been  more  on  your  guard  and  under  self-control 
than  to  have  permitted  yourselves  a  license  which, 
under  the  changed  conditions,  was,  to  say  the  least, 
out  of  place." 

"  You  must  really  excuse  me,"  Harry  burst  forth, 
and  at  the  same  time  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  began  to 
pace  the  room  with  pardonable  impetuosity. 

"  I  do  not  see  this  in  the  light  that  Lady  O'Brien 
and  yourself  evidently  do,  and  my  cousin  Maude  is  of 
my  way  of  thinking.  Now,  I  have  no  intention  of  be 
ing  clandestine  in  any  way,  nor  has  she.  But,  Uncle 
Hugh,  we  have  talked  this  matter  over  a  'ittle,  and 
though  at  first  I  was  honestly  willing  to  give  Maude 


156  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

up,  she,  like  the  dear  faithful  girl  that  she  is,  would  not 
listen  to  it  for  a  moment.  Under  these  circumstances, 
you  must  see  that  I  can  not  permit  my  fidelity  to  be 
less  than  hers,  nor  my  motives  to  be  misconstrued." 

"  I  see  nothing  of  the  kind,  sir,"  said  the  Squire, 
Opposition  always  irritated  him,  ajid  in  this  case  he 
felt  specially  grieved,  since  his  heart  was  with  the 
young  couple,  while  his  head  strenuously  forbade  his 
listening  to  its  dictates. 

"  I  can  only  see  foolish  obstinacy  on  her  part  and 
wrong-headedness  on  yours." 

"Sir!" 

"  Don't  interrupt  me  !  I  will  not  be  interrupted. 
What  I  was  going  to  say  before  was  this :  Neither 
Lady  O'Brien  nor  myself  will  consent  to  any  agreement 
whatsoever  between  Maude  and  you,  looking  toward 
marriage  in  the  future. 

"  The  idea  has  always  been  obnoxious  to  her  Lady 
ship  ;  and  certainly  under  the  present  state  of  things, 
I  could  not  myself  view  it  agreeably  to  your  wishes.  I 
feel  very  sorry ;  deeply  pained  to  be  obliged  to  place 
myself  in  opposition  to  you  ;  but  in  this  instance  there 
can  be  no  other  conclusion." 

Here  he  paused  to  take  breath,  and  Harry  at  once 
took  up  the  subject. 

"  What  you  say  is  very  unpleasant  and  very  disagree 
ably  put,  but  I  do  not  mean  to  find  fault  with  it  on 
that  account.  Lady  O'Brien  has  always  been  unfriendly 
to  me,  and  I  am  not  surprised  at  her  action  in  the  mat 
ter  ;  but  you,  who  have  always  treated  me  like  a  father 


DAM  EL  BOONE.  t$* 

I  confess  do  surprise  me  by  the  manner  in  which  you 
adopt  her  views." 

"  My  dear  boy ! "  cried  the  Squire,  "  I  have  the 
same  fatherly  interest  in  you  I  always  had.  Do  not 
mistake  in  me,  what  is  my  simple  duty,  and  a  very  dis 
agreeable  one,  for  a  desire  to  conflict  with  your  happi 
ness,  not  to  speak  of  that  of  my  only  daughter.  In 
deed,  I  may  say,  that  I  have  your  interests  both  at 
heart,  and  I  should  be  willing  to  modify  what  would 
be  my  wife's  view  with  regard  to  the  matter  to  this 
extent." 

Harry  listened  courteously,  but  evidently  without 
much  hope. 

"  The  best  thing  for  you  to  do,"  continued  the  Squire, 
"  and  of  course  I  don't  mean  to  be  discourteous  or  in 
hospitable  ;  but  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do  would  be 
to  leave  here  at  the  first  moment  that  is  agreeable  to 
yourself,  and  return  to  your  plantation ;  them  or  else 
where,  to  endeavor  to  build  up  your  fortune. 

"  In  fact,  it  is  a  great  pity  that  you  ever  had  the 
cause,  which  I  admit  you  have  had,  for  neglecting  your 
own  advancement.  It  is  always  a  bad  thing  for  a  young 
man  to  have  expectations,  and  there  never  was  better 
evidence  of  this  fact  than  is  furnished  by  yourself. 

"  And  I  was  going  to  add,  that  if  you  settle  down 
to  a  planter's  life,  or  to  any  other  which  shall  prove 
advantageous,  and  if  you  should  be  successful  and  ac 
quire  such  a  competence  as  would  justify  me,  I  would 
not  continue  to  be  adverse  to  your  union  with  ni) 
daughter." 


158  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  cried  Harry,  "that  I  can  go  back 
to  Baltimore  among  my  associates,  to  be  pitied  by  them 
as  a  discarded  heir  ?  " 

"  Hem  !  The  situation  does  not  present  itself  agree 
ably,  at  first  glance,  I  admit ;  but  what  plan  have  you 
to  suggest  that  will  offer  any  improvement  on  it  ?  " 

"  This,  Uncle.  I  have  been  reflecting  carefully  ever 
since  learning  of  my  changed  condition,  and  I  have 
come  to  this  decision,  in  carrying  out  which  I  hope  to 
have  your  aid. 

"  Nothing  can  induce  me  to  return  to  Maryland  for 
anything  more  than  the  briefest  possible  visit  to  settle 
up  my  affairs.  That  I  shall  have  to  do,  but  I  shall 
make  the  journey  subservient  to  my  other  purposes." 

"  And  those  are  ?  "  said  the  Squire. 

"  What  I  have  already  intimated  :  to  join  Daniel 
Boone  in  his  expedition  beyond  the  mountains. 

"  You  have  told  me  you  would  give  me  your  influence 
with  your  friend  Judge  Anderson,  and  in  a  new  country, 
and  with  land  sufficient  in  quantity  to  make  a  planter's 
life  something  of  an  object,  I  can  hope  to  advance,  and 
in  a  few  years  occupy  a  respectable  position." 

"  Well,  I  see  no  objection  to  that  plan,"  said  the 
Squire.  Indeed  it  had  already  occurred  to  him  that 
it  was  the  very  best  way  of  settling  all  the  difficulties. 
Harry  and  Maude  would  thus  be  separated,  and  possi 
bly  the  whole  affair  might  blow  over.  Thus  thinking, 
he  continued : 

"  I  will  help  you  with  Dick  Anderson,  and  he  is 
certain  to  give  you  a  patent  of  as  much  land  as  you  may 


DANTEL  BOONE.  159 

desire,  and  of  your  own  selection.  Very  good  idea,  my 
boy,  very  good  indeed  !  " 

"  But  I  had  not  concluded,  Uncle  Hugh,"  said  Harry, 
as  the  Squire,  rising  to  his  feet,  seemed  to  signify  that 
the  interview  was  at  an  end.  He  seated  himself,  how- 
ever,  and  resumed  his  attitude  of  listening,  though  with 
a  dubious  expression  on  his  face,  as  if  he  feared  the 
subject  was  not  so  happily  arranged  as  he  had  antici 
pated. 

"  Maude  is  quite  of  my  mind  as  to  this  plan,  but  we 
have  both  come  to  the  conclusion  that  before  I  carry  it 
into  effect  we  ought  to  be  married." 

"  The  devil  you  have  !  "  roared  the  Squire,  and  his 
face  flushed  with  anger.  "  Well,  sir,  this  is  a  cool  prop 
osition,  but  you  may  be  certain  it  will  go  no  farther 
I  have  still  something  to  say,  I  think,  with  regard  to  the 
matrimonial  alliance  of  my  own  daughter." 

Harry  had  fired  his  shot,  and  was  as  cool  as  the 
Squire  was  irritated.  He  now  rose  in  earnest  to  termi 
nate  the  interview,  saying  as  he  did  so : 

"Well,  Uncle  Hugh,  I  have  no  wish  to  anger  you. 
I  did  not  invite  this  conversation,  out  of  which,  what  I 
have  said  has  naturally  grown.  Maude  and  I  " 

"  Don't  dare  to  put  yourselves  together  in  a  sentence 
in  that  shape,  young  man.  I  won't  have  it." 

"  Very  well,  Uncle.  Then  there  is  no  more  to  be 
said." 

"No,  sir!  No  more,  certainly,  from  you.  Whatever 
else  is  to  be  said  as  to  this  most  audacious  proposal  will 
be  said  by  Lady  O'Brien  to  her  daughter,  in  the  way  of 


l6o  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

an  injunction  which  I  think  Maude  will  hardly  be  in 
clined  to  disobey." 

"We  will  leave  that  for  herself  to  decide,  Uncle 
Hugh,"  and  with  that  Harry  opened  the  door  and  left 
the  room. 

A  moment  later  the  Squire's  bell  was  rung  furiously,, 
and  on  a  servant  appearing  in  answer  to  it,  a  message 
was  sent  to  Miss  O'Brien,  that  her  father  required  her 
presence  in  the  library  at  once. 

Maude  obeyed  the  summons  without  hesitation. 

The  interview  was  held  with  closed  doors,  and  was 
a  brief  one.  From  the  attitude  and  appearance  of  the 
young  lady  as  she  left  the  room  less  than  ten  minutes 
later,  with  her  head  high  in  the  air,  and  her  face  pale, 
but  showing  every  sign  of  resolution,  it  was  evident 
that  it  had  been  a  stormy  one.  She  retired  at  once  to 
her  chamber,  while  the  Squire  sought  that  of  his  wife. 

By  this  time  the  household  had  been  made  aware 
that  something  serious  in  the  way  of  a  domestic  under 
current  was  progressing. 

Harry  on  leaving  his  Uncle  had  sought  Daniel  Boone, 
with  whom  he  held  a  brief  conference,  when  both  went 
to  their  respective  rooms,  and  Harry  proceeded  to  pacl 
up  his  belongings. 

The  few  articles  that  Boone  had  carried  in  his  saddle 
bags  on  the  journey  which  had  resulted  so  disastrously 
for  him,  had  been  captured  with  his  horse  by  his  kid 
nappers,  but  had  been  regained  from  them  after  the 
fight. 

H^rry  had  called  young  Hardernan  to  Jjis  room,  and 


DANIEL  BO  ONE.  j6i 

in  earnest  conversation  with  him,  while  at  the  same 
time  engaged  in  his  packing  operations,  when  there  was 
a  tap  at  the  door,  and  on  being  told  to  come  in,  a  young 
negro  girl,  specially  attached  to  Maude,  entered  on  tip 
toe,  and  gave  Harry  a  little  note. 

Excusing  himself  to  his  friend,  Harry  retired  to  the 
window  and  read  it. 

"DEAR  HARRY: 

"  /  have  had  a  terrible  time  with  father,  but  I  have 
not  flinched.  Be  firm  and  don't  desert  me,  and  you  can 

trust  me  throughout. 

"  Your  MAUDE." 

Harry  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  press  the 
little  wisp  of  a  note  to  his  lips,  which  action  was  seen 
Dy  Hardeman,  who  only  coughed  slightly  to  signify  his 
appreciation  of  the  act. 

Hurriedly  scrawling  a  few  words  on  a  leaf  torn  from 
his  note-book,  Harry  handed  it  to  the  girl,  with  the 
strict  injunction  to  give  it  to  her  young  mistress,  and 
no  one  else  ;  at  the  same  time  enforcing  this  order  with 
the  gift  of  a  half-crown. 

"  No  one  else  sha'n't  have  it,  massa,  foh  shuah.  I's 
young  missus'  own  gal,  an'  she  ain't  done  got  no  nig 
ger  on  the  whole  plantation  that's  so  trusty  like  me." 

"That's  all  right.  I  believe  you.  Hurry  along  and 
give  her  the  note !  " 

The  girl  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  started  to  find 
Maude ;  but  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  she  met  Lady 
O'Brien, 


1 62  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Rose  ?  "  said  my  Lady. 

"  Fs  gwine  to  find  Miss  Maude,  your  Lad'ship." 

At  the  same  time  the  girl  held  the  hand  containing 
the  note  concealed  behind  her. 

Lady  O'Brien  had  all  the  true  Irish  cunning  despite 
ner  high  birth,  and  in  the  present  condition  of  affairs 
it  would  not  do  to  be  too  punctilious. 

"  Very  well,  go  and  find  her.  I  think  she  is  in  her 
room,"  she  said  to  the  girl,  who  immediately  started 
to  run  past  her.  But  before  she  had  quite  reached 
Maude's  chamber-door  she  felt  a  grasp  of  her  wrist,  and 
at  the  same  moment  the  note  was  snatched  from  her 
hand  ;  while  the  girl  ran  screaming  down  the  stairs, 
partly  from  fear  of  the  consequences  that  might  ensue, 
and  partly  from  the  pain  of  a  smart  slap  on  the  ear  ad 
ministered  by  Lady  O'Brien. 

The  noise  startled  Harry  within  his  room,  and  hurry 
ing  to  the  door,  he  opened  it  just  in  time  to  see  Lad] 
O'Brien  reading  the  note  which  he  had  sent  to  his 
cousin. 

With  three  strides  he  was  at  her  side. 

"  Your  Ladyship  will  please  give  me  that  note,  which 
is  mine,  and  which  you  have  disgracefully  purloined 
from  my  messenger." 

"  The  note  is  addressed  to  my  daughter,  sir,  and  I 
have  a  perfect  right  to  possess  myself  of  it.  It  is,  more 
over,  such  a  writing  as  you,  if  you  possessed  any  gen- 
tlemanly  instincts,  could  never  rave  ventured  to  send 
to  her." 

"  Madam,  since  you  choose  to  resort  to  such 


DANIEL  BOONR.  163 

handed  methods  of  dealing  with  us,  you  need  not  be 
surprised  at  any  course  which  we  see  fit  to  pursue." 

By  this  time  the  brief  altercation,  which  was  in  rather 
a  loud  tone,  had  been  overheard  by  Maude  herself,  who 
was  waiting  in  her  room  for  a  response  to  her  message. 

She  now  opened  her  door,  and  appeared  in  the  hall, 
whereupon  her  Ladyship,  disinclined  to  face  both  the 
lovers  together,  hurriedly  left  the  scene. 

It  took  but  a  few  words  to  explain  to  Maude  the  nat 
ure  of  the  transaction  in  which  her  mother  had  been 
prominent,  and  to  communicate  the  contents  of  the 
note.  These  had  been  simply  a  tender  message,  de 
signed  to  reassure  the  young  girl,  and  satisfy  her  of  the 
continued  determination  of  her  lover.  Of  course,  it 
was  not  of  a  nature  calculated  to  either  reassure  or  sat 
isfy  the  actual  reader. 

An  incident  of  the  character  just  related  could  not 
but  increase  the  feeling  of  acerbity  already  existing, 
and  it  became  evident  to  the  parties  concerned  that 
some  decisive  action  must  be  taken,  and  at  once. 

With  the  speed  with  which  violent  conditions  often 
regulate  themselves,  the  various  parties  to  the  present 
one  came  to  their  several  determinations,  and  before 
the  day  was  over  the  foundation  of  the  acts  which  are 
to  form  the  remainder  of  this  narrative  had  been  laid, — 
though  without  any  one  of  the  characters  being  aware 
of  it, —  and  a  complete  revolution  had  taken  place 
among  the  members  of  the  family  at  Mount  Mourne. 

Maude  was  of  age  under  the  law,  and  free  to  go  and 
come  at  her  own  will. 


164  THE' LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

A  brief  colloquy  between  Harry  and  herself,  at  which 
Daniel  Boone  assisted,  resulted  in  the  following  plan  of 
operations : 

Maude  was  to  be  escorted  by  Daniel  Boone  and 
Thomas  Hardeman,  with  Mike  Dooley  acting  as  serv 
ant,  to  the  residence  of  the  farmer  on  the  Yadkin. 

Here  she  was  to  remain,  while  Harry  and  Rafe 
Slaughter  traveled  eastward  ;  the  latter  to  report  to 
Judge  Anderson  all  that  had  occurred  since  he  had 
left  him  in  March — and  as  to  most  of  which  the  Judge 
was  still  in  ignorance.  Harry  Calvert  was  to  go  on  to 
Baltimore  and  dispose  of  his  plantation. 

On  his  way  westward  to  meet  Daniel  Boone  at  his 
farm,  Harry  was  to  pick  up  Rafe  Slaughter,  when  they 
would  journey  the  rest  of  the  way  together.  The 
time  required  for  all  of  this  travel  and  arrangement 
would  take  until  well  into  the  spring,  when  Boone 
expected  to  be  ready  with  his  own  party  for  the  ex 
pedition. 

Suddenly  thought  out,  this  plan  was  no  less  promptly 
executed.  Gathering  together  hurriedly  such  articles 
as  were  essential,  to  be  packed  on  a  led  horse  which 
belonged  to  young  Hardeman,  Maude  prepared  for  her 
journey. 

At  the  last  moment  she  was  so  earnestly  entreated 
by  Rose,  the  girl  whose  accidental  meeting  with  Lady 
O'Brien  had  brought  affairs  to  a  climax,  that  she  de 
termined  to  take  her  with  her ;  she  being,  in  fact,  the 
actual  propeity  and  slave  of  Maude,  having  been  pur 
chased  by  her  when  still  a  child.  Mike  was  his  own 


DANIEL  BOONS.  165 

master,  and  it  was  at  his  own  suggestion  that  he  formed 
one  of  the  escort. 

Mr.  Hardeman's  plantation  lay  on  the  road  which  the 
party  would  travel,  and  young  Thomas  rode  thither  in 
advance  to  make  his  own  preparations 

In  the  meantime,  the  condition  of  mind  of  Squire 
O'Brien  and  his  Lady,  not  to  say  of  their  guests,  the 
rector  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rawlings,  could  hardly  be  con 
ceived. 

The  latter  found  themselves  most  certainly  de  trop  ; 
and  despite  the  urgent  requests  of  the  Squire  and  his 
Lady,  were  getting  ready  for  a  hurried  departure  home 
ward — the  Rawlingses  to  the  capital,  and  the  rector  to 
his  own  residence,  a  few  miles  away.  At  the  last  mo 
ment  Mile.  Raimonde,  who  had  somehow  been  out  ol 
sight  and  hearing  during  most  of  the  trouble  which  had 
been  brewing,  was  made  aware  of  it,  and  at  once  an 
nounced  her  determination  to  accompany  her  young 
mistress.  As  this  was  gladly  acceded  to  by  Maude,  it 
completed  an  exodus  of  the  entire  household,  except 
the  Squire,  his  Lady,  and  little  boy. 

It  is  certain  that,  seeing  to  what  a  pass  their  action 
had  brought  them,  these  two  would  gladly  have  recon 
ciled  matters,  had  not  her  Ladyship's  pride  intervened  • 
but,  indeed,  everything  had  gone  too  far  now  for  recon 
ciliation,  and  when  the  sun  set  it  was  upon  an  empty 
house  and  a  deserted  couple. 

The  Squire  and  his  Lady,  with  their  young  son,  were 
left  to  contemplate  the  family  ruin  which  had  resulted 


166       LIFE  AJVD  TIMES  OF  &.*  Wl  JSOONE. 

from  their  opposition  ;  which,  had  it  been  less  strenu 
ously  manifested,  or  more  delicately  adjusted  to  the 
people  and  circumstances  involved,  might  still  have 
been  successful ;  while  avoiding  the  present  catastrophe, 
and  the  long  line  of  exciting  and  even  terrible  occ«<r« 
rcwes  which  were  to  follow  in  its  wake. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

In  which  Stephen  Roberts  appears  upon  the  scene  for  an  instant,  to  the  present 
horror  of  the  Reader,  and  for  the  thickening  of  the  mystery  which  begins 
to  enfold  the  characters  of  this  story. 

WE  must  here  turn  the  reader's  attention  backward 
for  a  little  space,  while  we  relate  certain  events  which 
occurred  a  few  days  after  the  day  when  Boone  and  his 
friends  started  on  their  journey  homeward  from  the  old 
log-house. 

On  that  morning,  shortly  after  sunrise,  a  man  ot 
horseback  might  have  been  seen  slowly  picking  his  way 
over  the  still  muddy  road  which  led  past  the  hill  and 
tne  house  in  question. 

This  person  has  appeared  already  in  the  course  ol 
our  narrative,  and  would  have  been  recognized  as  the 
slim,  pallid  man  with  iron-gray  hair  who  questioned  one 
of  the  Regulators  concerning  Daniel  Boone  just  before 
the  riot  at  Hillsborough.  It  was,  in  fact,  Stephen  Rob 
erts,  the  man  who  had  so  signally  discomfited  Harry 
Calvert  during  the  interview  held  with  him  by  the  lat 
ter  at  his  house,  in  regard  to  Boone's  abduction. 

A  close  inspection  of  his  face,  at  the  moment  when 
we  now  introduce  him,  would  have  shown  that  he  was 
a  man  who  thought  deeply,  and  who  was  at  this  time 
in  a  reflective 


1 53  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

The  bridle  hung  loose  on  the  horse's  neck,  as  the  ani* 
mal  now  ambled  and  now  walked,  according  as  the  con 
dition  of  the  road  permitted,  and  at  his  own  will  other 
wise.  But,  as  he  neared  the  house,  Roberts  raised  his 
head,  and,  looking  about  him,  apparently  recognizing 
the  locality,  started  the  animal  into  a  faster  gait,  which 
speedily  brought  him  to  a  point  where  he  turned  off 
the  road  and  ascended  the  hill. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  house  came  in  view. 

The  door  was  wide  open  ;  no  smoke  appeared  issu 
ing  from  the  chimney,  while  the  ground  in  front  was 
trampled,  as  though  by  the  feet  of  many  persons  and 
horses. 

The  unexpected  appearance  of  the  place  gave  Stephen 
Roberts  a  start ;  and  he  hurried  his  horse  until  he  had 
reached  the  door,  when  he  sprang  to  the  ground,  leav 
ing  the  animal  to  stand  or  wander,  as  he  would. 

The  sight  which  met  his  astonished  gaze  as  he  stood 
on  the  threshold,  was  enough  to  turn  his  face  several 
shades  paler  than  was  its  wont,  if  that  were  possible. 

The  scene  was  unexpected,  ghastly,  terrible. 

On  the  hearthstone,  by  the  cold  cinders  and  ashes, 
lay  the  body  of  a  man,  bloated  out  of  shape,  and  the 
face  blackened  and  distorted  beyond  recognition. 

Near  him,  lying  upon  his  face,  was  the  body  of  a 
younger  man,  also  dead. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  room  a  number  of  bodies, 
seemingly  also  those  of  dead  men,  were  lying  in  differ 
ent  attitudes,  and  so  mingled  together  that  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  separate  them  from  each  other  at  the  first  glance- 


DANIEL  POONE.  1 69 

The  whole  aspect  of  the  place  was  that  of  a  charnel- 
house  ;  and  Roberts  stood  transfixed  with  horror  at 
the  fearful  sight ;  but  as  he  leaned  forward,  gazing  at 
the  tangled  mass  of  seemingly  dead  humanity,  a  live 
hand  and  arm  was  stretched  out  to  him  imploringly,  as 
if  for  succor. 

So  strong  had  been  the  impression  on  his  mind  of 
there  being  nothing  living  here,  that  he  started  back, 
appalled  with  the  reaction  that  occurred,  when  this 
arm  and  hand,  as  though  from  the  grave,  made  its  mute 
appeal  to  him. 

But  then  a  terrible  voice,  rendered  husky  and  for- 
bidding  by  anguish  and  privation,  groaned  forth  the 
words : 

"  Water !     Water !     For  God's  sake  !  " 

The  spoken  words  brought  him  to  himself,  and  being 
a  man  absolutely  devoid  of  fear,  though  impressed  and 
startled  with  the  sight  he  was  witnessing,  Roberts  step 
ped  forward,  and  leaning  over  the  one  who  had  spoken, 
recognized  him. 

''  For  God's  sake,  Butler,  is  that  you  ?  What  has 
happened?" 

"  Water !  Water !  "  was  all  the  poor  wretch  could 
utter ;  and,  seeing  his  extremity,  Roberts  stirred  about 
looking  for  what  he  wished,  which  he  presently  found 
in  a  bucket  on  the  table  where  was  still  the  jug  of 
spirits. 

Filling  the  pipkin,  he  carried  it  to  the  other,  -yho 
seized  it  in  his  hand  and  drained  it  instantly.  While  he 
was  doing  this  Roberts  perceived  that  he  was  tied  wifjt 
I 


170  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

ropes,  from  which  he  had  managed  to  extricate  the  free 
arm,  but  without  being  able  to  loose  himself  further. 

His  thirst  quenched,  Butler  regained  his  voice  suffi 
ciently  to  relate  briefly  what  had  occurred.  Having  con 
cluded,  and  pointing  over  in  the  corner  near  him,  he 
said : 

"There's  Charlie  Cleeves,  who  was  alive  at   sunrise." 

Roberts  went  to  the  point  indicated,  where  the  man 
lay  on  his  back,  not  presenting  any  more  appearance  of 
life,  however,  than  was  to  be  seen  in  the  bodies  about 
him.  Placing  his  hand  over  his  heart,  Roberts  perceiv 
ed  a  faint  beating;  whereupon  he  filled  the  pipkin  with 
ttater,  and  dashed  some  in  his  face. 

The  man  was  not  so  far  gone  but  that  this  revived 
him.  He  gasped,  and  after  choking  for  a  moment, 
came  sufficiently  to  himself  to  be  able  to  quench  his 
thirst. 

"  Are  there  any  more  of  you  alive  ?  "  said  Roberts, 
addressing  Butler. 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  the  last  two  died  last  night.  The 
others  were  all  killed  during  the  fight.  But  untie  me, 
for  God's  sake,  and  let  me  out  of  this  terrible  hole." 

To  his  surprise,  Roberts  did  not  immediately  proceed 
to  act  as  he  had  requested.  Instead  of  that,  he  raised 
his  hand  as  if  enjoining  silence,  and  stepping  to  the 
door,  passed  over  the  threshold  and  outside. 

The  two  men,  who  were  watching  him  eagerly,  ex 
changed  glances  as  he  disappeared  and  Butler  said  tg 
the  other ; 


DANIEL  BOONE  i;i 

"  What  does  he  do  that  for  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  heard  something,"  replied  the  other. 

But  half  satisfied,  Butler  began  nervously  to  feel  in 
his  pocket,  and  for  a  moment  the  rustling  of  paper  was 
heard.  Then  he  resumed  his  attitude  of  listening,  while 
he  waited. 

In  the  meantime  a  strange  course  of  conduct,  under  the 
circumstances,  was  being  pursued  by  Stephen  Roberts. 

On  finding  himself  outsicle  the  house,  his  first  act  was 
to  look  for  his  horse,  which  he  presently  saw  gnawing 
at  the  gray  moss  and  stubble,  among  the  trees  a  few 
paces  away. 

Stepping  to  the  side  of  the  animal  his  next  move 
ment  was  to  extract  from  the  holsters  the  two  pistols 
which  were  in  them. 

He  tried  the  loads,  examined  the  priming  carefully, 
and  placing  one  in  each  pocket  of  his  heavy  riding-coat, 
returned  to  the  door  of  the  house,  but  not  within  sight 
of  the  two  men  who  were  there  impatiently  waiting  for 
him. 

He  stood  perfectly  still,  with  his  hands  clasped  be 
fore  him  and  his  head  bent  down,  while  he  thought 
deeply. 

The  nature  of  his  reverie  must  ever  remain  between 
him  and  his  Maker.  The  result  of  it  appeared  in  a  few 
brief  moments  after  it  concluded. 

Shaking  himself  together,  and  apparently  by  the 
movement  divesting  himself  of  some  disagreeable  or 
painful  impression,  he  took  a  pistol  in  each  hand  and 
firmly  walked  into  the  cabin. 


i;2  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Instantly  there  was  a  report,  quickly  followed  by 
another;  the  two  being  divided  by  a  wild  scream  of 
mental  and  physical  anguish. 

Then  there  was  silence ;  and  as  a  cloud    of    smoke 
poured  through  the  doorway  Stephen  Roberts  walked 
steadily  over  the  threshold,   holding   the   two  pistol 
in  one  hand  while  he  closed  the  door  with  the  other. 

He  mounted  h'is  horse ;  and  with  a  face  no  less  and 
no  more  pallid,  and  seemingly  impressionless,  he  rode 
on  down  the  hill  at  a  slow  pace  until  he  had  gained  the 
road. 

Then,  as  though  pushed  by  such  a  remnant  of  a  con 
science  as  he  possessed,  or  stung  by  such  remorse  as 
might  be  possible  to  such  a  character  as  his,  he  put 
spurs  to  his  steed  and  dashed  headlong  through  the 
woods. 


Months  afterward,  when  the  trees  in  the  surrounding 
forest  were  green,  and  the  sun  cast  warm  shadows  upon 
the  ground,  and  the  birds  twittered  and  the  squirrels 
chattered  in  the  boughs  ;  a  party  of  immigrants,  fathers, 
mothers,  and  children,  passing  through  the  woods  in 
search  of  the  land  whereon  they  were  to  settle,  came 
upon  the  old  log-house  on  the  hill-side. 

Here  they  concluded  to  encamp,  and  take  their  noon 
day  meal ;  and  having  alighted  from  the  great  wagon 
which  contained  their  household  goods  and  from   the 
hcrses  which  some  of  the  elder  of  the  party  rode  beside 
it    one  of  their  number,  a  bright  lad  of  a  dozen  years 


DAN  TEL  BOONS.  173 

of  age  or  so,  ran  laughing  up  to  the  door  of  the  lonely 
house. 

Pushing  that  in  he  stumbled  over  the  threshold. 

A  wild  shriek  of  terror  called  the  others  to  his  side 
when  to  all  of  them,  as  they  clustered  about  the  en 
trance  and  gazed  shudderingly  within,  there  appeared 
a  ghastly  mass  of  rigid  skeletons,  in  the  midst  of  which 
one,  in  a  sitting  posture,  with  head  erect,  pointed  at 
them  with  outstretched  fleshless  arm  and  hand — whose 
extended  finger  of  bone  seemed  to  indicate  that  some 
where  in  the  East,  still  unscourged  of  justice,  might 
live,  awaiting  his  punishment,  the  man  who  murdered 
his  fettered  and  wounded  comrades,  that  the  secrets 
between  them  might  still  lie  hidden. 

Looking  upon  this  sight  only  long  enough  to  imprint 
upon  their  memories  forever  its  every  fearful  character 
istic,  the  party  hurried  from  the  scene. 

Picking  their  steps,  on  tiptoe,  over  the  grass,  they 
hastened  to  resume  occupation  of  their  wagon,  the 
horses  attached  to  which  had  been  loosened  for  their 
resting  spell  ;  and  then,  hurriedly  whipping  up  their 
team,  they  fled  with  speed  from  the  accursed  spot. 

These  bearing  the  tidings  to  others  whom  they  met, 
it  gradually  grew  to  be  known  about  Hillsborough  that 
the  ghastly  skeletons  were  those  of  the  eight  men 
whose  disappearance  early  in  the  winter  previous  had 
mystified  and  alarmed  their  families  and  fellow-towns 
men. 

These  men  were  none  of  them   of  good  character 
and  while  their  loss  had  awakened  much  surprise  and 


174  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

inquiry  and  some  investigation,  it  had  thus  not  been 
of  a  nature  to  cause  much  general  grief. 

A  party  being  sent  out  to  inspect  the  remains,  and 
give  them  decent  burial,  the  conclusions  reached  con 
cerning  their  fate  were  found  to  be  at  variance  one  with 
another. 

While  some  believed  they  had  fought  among  them 
selves  ;  others  scouted  the  idea,  not  unwisely,  querying 
how  they  could  have  tied  themselves  up  in  the  manner 
exhibited  in  the  case  of  four  of  them. 

Others  thought  that  possibly  some  rambling  band  of 
Indians,  from  the  southwest,  might  have  happened 
upon  the  spot  and  massacred  the  whole  of  them. 

But  against  this  theory  were  set  the  facts  that  there 
was  no  sign  of  tomahawk  or  scalping-knife  visible  on 
any  of  the  bodies.  It  was  observed  that  the  one  found 
in  a  sitting  posture,  and  another  near  to  him,  had  large 
bullet-holes  through  their  skulls. 

The  whole  affair  was  so  involved  in  mystery,  that  al 
though  such  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  officers  of  jus 
tice  as  could  be  made  to  clear  it  up  duly  occurred,  no 
result  was  reached. 

The  bodies  were  buried  in  the  woods  near  where 
they  were  found,  and  the  old  house  gradually  fell  in 
ruins,  being  ever  after  shunned  by  all  who  had  heard 
the  terrible  tale  connected  with  it. 

Naturally,  in  the  course  of  his  official  duties,  a 
knowledge  of  this  discovery  came  to  the  ears  of  Mr. 
Rawlings,  of  the  Governor's  Council ;  but  that  high 
official  did  not  probably  conceive  it  essential  to  justice 


&AXIEL  BOONS.  175 

to  signify  that  he  knew  anything  concerning  the  facts 
involved. 

While  the  strange  story  remained  a  matter  of  public 
speculation,  Stephen  Roberts,  as  a  prominent  person  of 
Hillsborough,  and  a  man  well  acquainted  with  all  the 
parties  to  this  tragedy,  was,  of  course,  frequently  ap 
pealed  to  ;  but  from  his  reticence  and  apparent  igno 
rance  upon  the  subject,  nothing  could  be  learned. 

Meanwhile,  those  who  had  been  prime  actors  in  the 
beginning  of  the  affair  were  many  hundred  miles  away 
from  its  scene,  and  for  years  remained  ignorant  of  what 
had  happened  after  their  own  connection  with  the  oc 
currence. 

Fortunately  for  them,  amid  the  sorrows  and  the  hor 
rors  which  many  times  encircled  and  disturbed  theif 
own  wandering  life,  no  knowledge  of  the  miserable  and 
cruel  conclusion  of  the  conflict  in  which  they  had  taken 
part,  ever  came,  to  still  farther  inflict  their  memories. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Showing  how  the  Regulators  had  occupied  taeir  time,  and  disclosing  the  re 
sult  of  Harry  Calvert's  visit  to  his  Plantation.  With  some  relation  of  • 
journey  made  to  Judge  Anderson,  and  what  had  happened  there. 

WHILE  the  incidents  had  been  occurring  which  we 
have  already  recounted,  a  train  of  events  of  a  seiious 
character  had  attracted  the  attention  of  Eastern  North 
Carolina. 

During  the  latter  months  of  the  year  1768,  the  Reg 
ulators,  doubtless  impressed  with  their  success  at  Hills- 
borough  in  the  spring,  had  become  more  and  more  dar 
ing,  and  hardly  a  day  or  night  passed  that  did  not 
witness  outrages  on  their  part. 

These  consisted  in  attacks  on  individuals,  or  in  barn 
or  house-burning,  as  the  case  might  be  ;  robbery  com 
ing  in  as  a  customary  adjunct ;  such  being  generally 
the  case  where  large  masses  of  the  lower  orders  are 
united  in  antagonism  to  the  laws  and  to  the  powers 
that  be. 

Of  course,  persons  employed  in  official  positions,  and 
those  whose  duty  it  was  to  dispense  the  laws,  were  more 
immediately  obnoxious  to  this  class  of  agitators.  Judge 
Anderson  occupying  such  a  position,  and  being  pecul 
iarly  placed  by  reason  of  his  connection  with  the  Hills 
(176) 


DANIEL  BOONS. 

borough  riot,  was  specially  an  object  of  enmity  and 
antipathy  on  the  part  of  the  Regulators. 

To  such  an  extent  had  these  feelings  on  their  part 
been  carried,  that  when  Rafe  Slaughter  and  Harry  Cal- 
vert  reached  Granville  County  and  the  vicinity  of  An 
derson's  estate,  they  soon  discovered  marked  evidence 
of  the  destruction,  which  had  even  extended  to  this 
distance  from  the  region  more  generally  infested  by  the 
insurgents. 

As  they  approached  the  mansion,  and  when  the  out 
buildings  should  have  come  in  sight,  there  was  displayed 
before  their  eyes  a  scene  of  ruin,  which,  to  one  of  them 
at  least,  could  not  but  occasion  the  most  poignant  feel 
ings  of  distress  and  regret. 

Of  such  buildings  there  remained  nothing  but  black 
ened  embers. 

Leaving  the  main  road  for  the  drive  which  led  di« 
rectly  to  the  mansion,  the  whole  scene  of  destruction 
lay  before  them. 

The  mansion  itself  was  in  ruins.  This  beautiful  build 
ing,  which  was  the  pride  of  that  part  of  the  county  in 
which  it  stood,  had  been  fired  by  the  mob,  and  de  j 
stroyed  with  nearly  all  its  contents  ;  Judge  Anderson 
and  his  family,  however,  escaping  with  such  articles  of 
value,  important  papers,  etc.,  as  they  could  hastily  gath 
er  and  bestow  about  their  persons. 

But  as  to  this,  Rafe  and  his  new  friend  were  unin 
formed  until  they  had  made  inquiries  among  the  neigh 
bors  ;  from  them  they  learned  that  the  Judge  and  his 
household  were   temporarily  staying  with   a   planter. 
&* 


178  THE  LIFE  AXt>  TIMES  OF 

some  ten  miles  further  on ;  and  thither  they  imme 
diately  directed  their  steps,  riding  at  such  speed  as 
they  might,  Rafe  being  necessarily  anxious  for  the  wel 
fare  of  his  patron  and  the  family. 

At  the  place  designated,  the  house  of  a  well-to-do 
planter,  the  whole  family  were  found,  and  Rafe  was 
gladly  welcomed  by  all  of  them.  Harry  Calvert  was 
also  received  courteously  and  hospitably,  and  at  once 
made  to  feel  quite  at  home. 

The  story  of  the  ruin  which  had  been  occasioned  by 
the  depredations  of  the  Regulators  was  one  which,  by 
this  time,  was  familiar  throughout  the  Colony. 

In  this  instance,  that  there  was  not  loss  of  life,  as 
there  had  been  in  certain  other  cases,  was  due,  perhaps, 
more  than  to  anything  else,  to  the  fact,  that  the  Judge, 
who  had  warm  friends  among  every  class  of  people, 
had  been  warned  in  time  to  enable  him  to  vacate  the 
premises  before  the  attack  had  been  actually  made. 
He  had  thus  been  enabled  to  secure  all  his  valuables, 
and  all  the  records  and  documents  belonging  to  his 
official  position,  and  which  were  in  his  hands  at  the 
time. 

After  listening  to  the  Judge's  story,  of  course  Rafe 
became  the  object  of  many  questions,  no  tidings,  ex 
cept  a  single  message,  having  been  received  from  him 
since  he  left  Granville  in  March. 

The  Judge  had  become  acquainted  with  the  fact  of 
the  capture  of  Daniel  Boone  ;  beyond  this  he  knew 
nothing ;  and  was,  of  course,  deeply  interested  in  the 
details  of  the  expedition  in  which  the  two  persons 


DANIEL  BOONE.  179 

before  him  had  been  engaged,  and  which  had  resulted 
in  the  attack  on  Boone's  captors,  and  the  release  of  the 
pioneer. 

In  passing  through  Hillsborough,  Rafe  and  Harry 
had  heard  remarks  dropped  concerning  the  prolonged 
absence  of  the  seven  or  eight  persons  who  had  been 
concerned  in  the  kidnapping  of  Boone  ;  but  they  cer 
tainly  did  not  consider  it  essential  or  desirable  to  inti 
mate  to  any  one  the  connection  which  they  had  had 
with  the  delay  in  the  return  of  these  adventurers , 
they,  however,  informed  Judge  Anderson  of  all  the 
incidents  of  the  capture,  and  were  advised  by  him  to 
continue  to  keep  the  matter  a  profound  secret. 

"You  see,  Rafe,"  said  the  Judge,  "little  either  of 
you  know  of  what  may  have  happened  in  those  lonely 
woods  after  you  left ;  the  whole  matter  may  come  up 
hereafter,  and  on  that  account  as  well  as  on  many 
others,  your  plan  of  going  out  with  Boone  appears 
to  be  a  good  one  in  the  present  troubled  state  of  the 
times. 

"  Although  my  position  should  perhaps  deter  me 
from  such  recommendation,  I  can  not  but  think  that 
the  further  you  are  away  from  this  locality,  the  better 
it  will  be  for  all  concerned." 

"  From  your  way  of  receiving  this,  Judge,"  said  Rafe, 
"  I  am  led  to  suppose  that  you  have  not  changed  your 
intentions  in  regard  to  Boone." 

"  Certainly  not,"  observed  the  Judge,  with  emphasis. 
*  While  it  is  true  that  I  have  met  with  a  very  serious 
.oss,  and  one  that  in  some  particulars  can  not  be  re- 


,  So  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

placed,  it  is  also  true  that  the  pecuniary  misfortune 
will  not  fall  upon  me  in  the  end. 

"  The  Government,  you  know,"  he  continued,  smil 
ing,  "will  continue  to  take  caie  of  its  honest  servants. 
The  taxation  of  this  county  may  be  increased  next  year, 
but  certainly  I  shall  not  suffer  ultimately. 

"  Some  of  my  friends  who  are  concerned  with  us  in  our 
enterprise,  have  also  been  sufferers  at  the  hands  of  the 
Regulators ;  some  of  them  more  severely  than  myself. 
Though  they  have  lost  much  that  can  not  be  replaced, 
they  are  not  ruined,  and  can  still  control  large  means ; 
and  the  amount  that  I  think  will  be  required  to  carry 
out  our  project  is  not  sufficiently  great  to  seriously  in 
commode  any  of  us. 

"As  regards  the  general  question,  while  I  regret,  of 
course,  the  time  lost,  and  the  danger  and  hardships  to 
which  Boone  and  those  of  you  who  went  to  his  assist 
ance  have  been  subjected,  these  incidents  need  not  ma 
terially  interfere  with  the  project  as  a  whole. 

"  In  going  to  the  assistance  of  Boone,"  he  added, 
'  you  did  precisely  what  I  should  have  advised  and 
wished  under  the  circumstances.  Situated  as  I  am,  I 
could  hardly  get  along  without  Boone,  and  I  owe  you 
and  your  associates  a  debt  of  thanks  for  having  pro 
ceeded  so  adventurously  and  so  energetically  toward 
his  recapture. 

"  And  I  am  happy  to  add,"  and  here  he  bowed  to 
Hany,  "  that  I  shall  with  pleasure  confer  upon  yout 
friend  Mr.  Calvert,  if  he  joins  Boone  and  yourself,  a  pat 
ent  for  as  much  land  as  he  may  desire  for  his  own  uses 


DANIEL  BOONE.  l8l 

"  So  far  as  ray  immediate  plans  are  concerned,  I  am 
only  remaining  here  with  my  family  as  the  guest  of  my 
friend  and  neighbor,  and  my  stay  must  be  shortened  as 
much  as  possible. 

"  The  Government  is  determined  to  take  the  most 
energetic  course  in  suppressing  this  insurrection.  A) 
ready  the  militia  have  been  called  into  requisition  con 
centrated,  drilled,  and  properly  officered. 

"  Next  year  these  ruffians  will  be  captured  individu 
ally  ;  or,  if  they  combine,  will  be  attacked  in  force,  and 
the  entire  movement  suppressed,  no  matter  at  what 
cost  of  lives  or  property. 

*  They  are  already  pretty  well  scared  by  the  deter 
mination  which  is  being  manifested  on  the  part  of  the 
Government,  and  I  anticipate  no  further  trouble,  at 
least  so  far  from  the  center  of  the  insurrection  as  Gran- 
ville  is. 

"  I  have  given  the  necessary  orders,  and  shall  at  once 
commence  to  rebuild  I  have  also  undertaken  corre 
spondence,  which  will  enable  me  to  gather  together 
suitable  furniture  and  fittings  for  my  future  residence  ; 
this  is  likely  to  occupy  me  during  the  next  year. 

"  In  the  meantime,  as  far  as  you  are  concerned — and 
I  am  glad  of  your  having  friends  who  are  willing  to 
join  you — I  desire  that  you  will  follow  out  my  original 
intentions,  unite  yourselves  with  Boone,  place  your 
selves  under  his  orders,  and  proceed  with  your  explora 
tion  as  already  directed." 

After  some  further  conversation,  the  Judge  concluded 
to  send  Rafe  with  Harry  Calvert  to  the  coast,  in  order 


1 82  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

to  facilitate  and  hasten  all  his  business  arrangements 
with  regard  to  rebuilding  his  house. 

The  two  only  remained  a  day  with  the  Judge,  and 
then  started  on  their  journey.  After  proceeding  to« 
gethfi  about  ninety  miles  they  separated  •  Harry  to  go 
north  into  Virginia,  his  idea  being,  on  arriving  at  the 
first  seaport,  to  take  vessel  for  Baltimore  ;  while  Rafe 
continued  on  to  prosecute  the  Judge's  business. 

It  was  agreed  between  them  that  they  should  meet 
at  Hillsborough  in  the  following  March,  a  day  being 
appointed,  to  meet  which  their  arrangements  should  be 
made ;  and  it  was  agreed  that  whichever  one  should 
Arrive  first  should  await  the  other. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  follow  the  Judge's  secretary  in 
the  conduct  of  the  affairs  in  his  charge,  and  we  will, 
therefore,  accompany  Harry  in  his  progress  northward. 

After  a  journey  without  adventure,  he  arrived  at 
Norfolk,  where  he  was  fortunate  in  finding  a  small  ves 
sel  loading  and  bound  for  Baltimore. 

A  week's  delay,  which  he  passed  in  needed  rest  and 
recuperation,  found  him  on  board  this  vessel ;  and  after 
rather  a  boisterous  voyage,  but  without  accident,  he 
reached  Baltimore ;  here  he  found  that  the  news  of  his 
cousin's  inheritance  had  preceded  him,  and  that  his 
associates  were  all  better  informed  than  himself  as  to 
the  fact;;  In  the  matter. 

vVhiic  most  of  these  liked  and  admired  Harry  suf 
ficiently  not  to  permit  his  misfortunes  to  have  any 
weight  in  disturbing  their  friendship  for  him,  there 
were  a  sufficient  number  of  a  different  nature,  who  sue* 


DANIEL  BOONE.  183 

ceeded  in  making  it  quite  uncomfortable  for  him  tc 
move  in  his  usual  circles.  This  made  it  desirable  foi 
him  to  close  up  his  affairs  as  speedily  as  possible,  and 
leave,  he  hoped  forever,  a  place  which  had  become 
essentially  disagreeable  to  him. 

One  of  his  first  acts,  however,  was  to  visit  his  attor 
ney,  whom,  also,  he  found  to  be  well-informed  as  to  his 
uncle's  disposition  of  his  property,  and  from  whom  he 
learned  that  Gabriel  Herron,  the  heir,  had  not  been 
heard  from  in  a  number  of  years. 

He  was  said  to  have  been  reckless  and  dissipated  in 
his  life  at  home,  and  had  finally  found  himself  in  some 
trouble  sufficiently  important  to  induce  him  to  leave 
the  country.  Whither  he  had  gone  was  not  known, 
but  it  was  believed  he  was  living  in  India  ;  and  the 
lawyer  informed  Harry  that  a  messenger  had  been  sent 
to  Calcutta  to  endeavor  to  obtain  traces  of  him. 

The  fact  of  his  absence  from  the  country  was  well 
known  to  the  testator,  who  had  specifically  mentioned 
it  in  his  will,  adding  that  if  no  tidings  should  be  ob 
tained  concerning  him  within  a  period  of  seven  years, 
the  bequest  should  be  diverted  from  its  original  destina 
tion,  and  should  accrue  to  Harry  Calvert. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  all  that  ?  "  asked  Harry  of 
the  lawyer,  after  tlvs  latter  had  concluded  his  state 
ment. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  the  other.  "  What  do 
I  think  of  the  will,  or  of  the  probability  of  your  cousin's 
ever  getting  his  bequest  ?  " 

"  Well,  both." 


lS4  TffE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  As  to  the  will,"  continued  the  lawyer,  •'  I  do  not 
know  what  to  think.  Why  your  Uncle  Frederick 
should  have  so  suddenly  changed  his  mind  (for  I 
always  supposed  he  had  made  it  up  definitely  in 
your  favor),  I  can  not  imagine.  In  this  connection  1 
would  like  to  ask  you  one  personal  question  ;  you  need 
not  answer  it  if  you  do  not  like  to. 

"  Have  you  done  anything  to  occasion  this  change  in 
your  uncle,  or  do  you  personally  know  of  any  reason 
for  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  only  done  nothing  that  should  have 
gone  to  my  injury  in  his  mind,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
our  relations  have  always  been  of  the  pleasantest  nat 
ure.  All  his  letters  to  me  have  always  been  of  the 
kindest,  and  without  absolutely  so  stating,  have  been 
of  a  nature  to  give  me  the  impression  that  he  intended 
to  make  his  will  in  my  favor. 

"  When  I  was  visiting  him  he  was  more  than  kind, 
more  than  hospitable.  He  not  only  entertained  me  as 
he  would  an  honored  guest,  introducing  me  to  all  the 
gentry  of  his  neighborhood,  but  on  my  leaving  him,  as 
you  are  aware,  he  made  me  a  handsome  gift,  which  en 
abled  me  to  clear  my  plantation  of  debt.  But  let  us 
not  proceed  further  with  this  part  of  the  subject, " 

"  Well,  then,"  pursued  the  lawyer,  "  in  answer  to  the 
second  half  of  our  question,  as  to  the  probability  of  your 
cousin  succeeding.  I  Tiust  say,  from  what  I  have 
learned  regarding  him,  I  do  not  think  they  are  in  favor 
of  that  conclusion.  Gabriel  Herron  seems  to  have  been 
a  wild,  harum-scarum,  devil-may-care  kind  of  a  fellow  in 


DANIEL  BOOtfh.  jgj 

college;  always  in  disgrace  and  under  discipline  ;  who 
was  rusticated,  and  would  have  been  expelled  but  fot 
his  family  influence,  and  this  succeeded  only  in  enabling 
him  to  withdraw  before  he  had  finished  the  course. 

"  Almost  immediately  thereafter  he  got  into  serious 
difficulty  in  Dublin,  of  the  nature  of  which  I  have  my 
own  ideas :  worrying  his  family,  who  got  money  enough 
together  to  send  him  out  of  the  country.  He  certainly 
went  to  Calcutta — of  that  I  believe  there  is  no  doubt ; 
but  that  was  a  good  many  years  ago,  and  whether  he 
ever  removed  from  that  country,  I  know  not." 

"  My  cousin,  if  he  is  living,  is  a  good  deal  older  than 
I,  is  he  not  ?  "  queried  Harry. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  he  must  be  twenty 
years  or  more  older;  he  belonged  to  the  older  branch 
of  the  family ;  his  mother,  who  was  a  Calvert,  having 
married  very  young.  My  own  belief  is  that  he  is  dead, 
and  that  the  money  in  question — and  at  interest  it  will 
have  become  a  very  large  sum  seven  years  from  now — 
will  eventually  go  to  yourself." 

"  However,"  said  Harry,  "  that  is  all  problematical ; 
I  may  be  dead  myself  before  then.  I  suppose  there 
can  be  no  doubt  about  the  validity  of  the  will  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  the  slightest,"  replied  the  other.  "  My  in 
formation  comes  to  me  direct  regarding  it,  and  there  Is 
no  doubt  of  its  having  been  properly  signed,  witnessed, 
and  recorded." 

Harry  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  he  heaved  a 
sigh,  and  as  if  by  that  action  discharging  the  subject 
from  his  mind,  he  said  :  "  Very  well,  I  have  something 


186  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

else  to  speak  to  you  about.     I  want  to  sell  my  planta 
tion." 

The  lawyer  looked  surprised.  "  Why  do  you  do 
that  ? ''  he  said.  "  It  is  just  now  in  excellent  condition. 
and  if  you  would  stay  here  and  look  after  your  inter 
ests,  you  would  soon  be  far  on  the  way  to  become  as 
rich  as  your  uncle." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  discussing  that  question,"  said 
Harry  firmly.  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  and  we  will 
not  waste  time.  I  have  the  best  possible  reasons  for 
my  course,  one  of  which,  by  the  way,  is,  that  no  amount 
of  money  or  degree  of  success  could  induce  me  to  live 
here  or  in  this  neighborhood,  any  longer  than  necessity 
demanded." 

"  Oh,  all  right !  "  said  the  lawyer  ;  "  if  you  have  made 
up  your  mind,  I  shall  not  attempt  to  change  it.  You 
will  have  no  difficulty  in  selling  your  plantation  for  a 
fair  price ;  indeed,  I  have  a  customer  in  my  mind,"  he 
continued,  thoughtfully  ;  "  a  young  gentleman  who  has 
just  arrived  here  from  London  with  a  good  deal  of 
money  and  not  so  much  brains,  and  certainly  not  much 
experience. 

"  He  is  anxious  to  equip  himself,  in  respect  to  the 
last  quality,  by  running  a  plantation.  Yours  will  just 
suit  him, -and  I  will  see  him  this  very  day  and  sound 
him  concerning  it.  Do  you  wish  to  fix  a  price  upon  it, 
or  will  you  leave  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  leave  that  entirely  to  you,"  said  Harry,  ris 
ing  ;  "  I  certainly  know  nothing  of  its  present  value 
and  besides,  if  I  did,  I  would  depend  sooner  upon  you* 


DANIEL  BOONE.  1 87 

judgment.  I  will  only  mention,  however,  that  I  shall 
go  out  to  the  place  to-night  and  will  stay  there  until 
you  have  effected  a  sale,  and  that  the  purchase  will  not 
include  my  horses,  while  I  shall  reserve  such  personal 
articles  as  I  may  want  to  retain  ;  all  such  will  be  left 
out  of  the  schedule  which  I  will  send  you  to-morrow. 
The  hands  will  go  with  the  plantation.  If  they  h ave  not 
increased  or  decreased  since  I  have  been  away,  there  are 
about  forty  of  them.  The  overseer  will,  I  know,  want 
to  stay  there,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  recommend  him. 

"  As  to  everything  else — price,  terms,  time  of  hand 
ing  over  the  property,  and  so  on — I  leave  it  all  in  your 
hands,  only  begging  that  you  will  complete  the  transac 
tion  as  speedily  as  possible.  It  is  quite  unnecessary  for 
me  to  add,  that  I  hope  you  will  take  good  care  of  my 
interests,  for  I  know  you  would  do  that  with  more  jus 
tice,  and  I  might  add  generosity,  than  you  would  if 
they  were  your  own." 

The  lawyer  laughed  aloud  with  a  gratified  look  at 
this  compliment,  and  the  two  separated.  The  same 
evening,  as  he  had  stated  he  should  do,  Harry  rode  out  to 
the  plantation,  where  he  received  a  warm  welcome  from 
his  slaves. 

Harry  had  always  been  a  kind  master  to  them,  and 
their  delight  at  his  return  was  speedily  changed  to 
every  manifestation  of  warm  regret  when  they  learned 
that  he  was  about  to  permanently  leave  them.  The 
relation  of  master  and  slave  at  this  time,  where  it  was 
at  all  kindly  and  wholesome,  was  of  the  most  agreeable 
character  in  regard  to  both. 


1 88  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Pretty  generally  in  the  case  of  plantations,  the  slaves 
had  been  long  held  in  the  same  family.  The  evil-dis 
posed  and  those  otherwise  obnoxious,  were  gradually 
weeded  out  by  the  process  of  "  natural  selection,"  and 
those  who  remained  were  of  the  best  class,  faithful, 
capable,  and  trustworthy  ;  this  was  the  case,  to  a  re 
markable  degree,  with  those  in  Harry's  charge,  and, 
consequently,  they  felt,  as  they  expressed,  a  sincere 
sorrow  at  parting  with  him. 

The  change  was  made  even  sooner  than  Harry  him 
self  had  anticipated,  for  three  days  from  the  time  of  his 
arrival  at  the  plantation,  the  lawyer  rode  up  there  in 
the  evening  accompanied  by  the  young  Englishman 
of  whom  he  had  spoken,  and  who  was  quite  as  anx 
ious  to  buy  as  Harry  was  to  sell. 

On  going  over  the  plantation  the  following  day,  he 
expressed  entire  satisfaction  with  everything,  and  great 
anxiety  to  complete  the  bargain  at  once.  The  details 
were  speedily  concluded,  and  twenty-four  hours  after 
ward  Harry  had  bidden  farewell  to  his  hom.e ;  and  after 
sending  such  articles  as  he  had  chosen  from  his  per 
sonal  property  (including  his  horses)  to  Baltimore,  he 
followed  them  himself,  and,  comfortably  established  in 
a  tavern,  awaited  the  completion  of  his  business. 

This  was  effected  on  the  following  day,  and  with  a 
handsome  sum  deposited  in  the  hands  of  his  bankers,  and 
sufficient  money  about  his  person  to  answer  his  proba 
ble  wants  for  the  immediate  future,  Harry  was  free  to 
move  in  any  direction  that  seemed  good  to  him. 

It  wis  by  this  time  late  in  January,  and  as  there  re> 


DANIEL  BOONE.  iSg 

mained  to  him  several  weeks  before  the  time  of  hib 
appointmer.t  with  Rafe  Slaughter,  Harry  determined 
to  pay  a  visit  to  Philadelphia,  which  city,  curiously 
enough,  he  had  never  yet  seen. 

His  distaste  for  Baltimore  and  all  its  associations  not 
only  continued,  but  increased,  as  the  slight  improve 
ment  in  his  fortunes  brought  about  him  those  of  his 
former  companions  who  had  shown  a  desire  to  avoid 
him  after  being  informed  of  his  changed  condition. 
He  accordingly  took  the  coach  for  Philadelphia,  and 
reaching  that  city,  passed  a  pleasant  fortnight,  making 
many  friends  and  acquaintances ;  while  there,  to  his 
astonishment,  the  name  of  his  successful  competitor 
for  his  uncle's  fortune  was  brought  anew  to  his  mind. 

Happening  to  be  in  a  store  one  day  making  some 
purchases  of  articles  he  would  be  likely  to  need  on  the 
iourney  he  purposed  undertaking,  he  overheard  a  cus 
tomer  in  conversation  with  the  proprietor  of  the  store, 
mention  the  name  of  Gabriel  Herron,  a  fact  which  quite 
astonished  him,  since  it  was  not  a  common  name.  He 
waited  until  the  customer  had  retired,  when  he  vent 
ured  to  ask  the  old  Quaker  who  kept  the  store  what 
he  knew  of  the  person  whose  name  had  just  been 
mentioned.  The  old  man  looked  at  him  curiously 
for  a  moment. 

"  He  was  employed  by  me  some  eight  or  ten  years 
ago,  and  that  person  was  inquiring  after  him,"  he  said, 
presently. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  his  antecedents?  "  asked 
Hany. 


TffE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"Very  little,"  was  the  reply.  "  He  came  here  with 
out  letters  of  introduction  of  any  kind,  and  I  took  him 
on  chance,  happening  to  want  somebody  at  that  mo 
ment. 

"  He  was  intelligent,  educated,  and  industrious,  but 
I  soon  found  that  he  led  a  wild  and  reckless  life,  and 
was  not  suited  for  my  employ,  so  I  dismissed  him." 

"  Do  you  know  what  became  of  him?  " 

"  Nothing  more  than  what  he  told  me  ;  he  said  that 
he  should  go  to  Boston,  and  from  there,  probably  return 
to  his  home  ;  since  then  I  have  never  seen  him  or  heard 
of  him,  and  the  information  I  have  just  given  you,  was 
what  I  gave  to  the  gentleman  whom  you  overheard." 

Harry  thanked  the  store-keeper  for  his  answers,  and 
having  completed  his  purchases,  retired  to  his  lodging- 
house,  whence  he  immediately  sent  a  letter  to  his  law 
yer  in  Baltimore,  containing  a  concise  statement  of  the 
information  he  had  received. 

This  letter  he  soon  after  followed  to  its  destination  ; 
but  this,  with  a  conversation  on  the  subject  which  he 
had  with  the  lawyer  before  leaving  Baltimore,  resulted 
in  no  conclusion  of  importance. 

Indeed  the  chance  information  he  had  received  only 
added  to  the  probability  that  the  person  in  question 
was  still  continuing  his  wanderings  in  strange  lands 
since  if  he  had  been  anywhere  in  the  United  Kingdom, 
the  means  undoubtedly  used  to  discover  him  (as  ia 
customary  in  such  cases)  would  have  certainly  found 
him. 

Leaving  Baltimore,  Harry  traveled  as  rapidly  as  pos 


DANIEL  BOONE.  191 

sible,  with  necessary  resting-spells,  and,  without  any 
special  occurrence  of  importance,  reached  Hillsborough 
at  the.  time  agreed  upon  with  Rafe  Slaughter. 

But  here  he  found  a  message  from  the  latter,  inform 
ing  him  that  the  Judge's  business  was  likely  to  detain 
him  a  month  longer  in  Granville,  and  that  Harry  could 
either  await  him  at  Hillsborough,  join  him  in  Granville 
County,  or  push  on  to  Boone's,  where  they  would  meet 
as  soon  as  Rafe  could  make  the  journey. 

Little  foreseeing  how  much  of  importance  hung  on 
his  decision,  or  how  it  would  affect,  not  only  himself 
but  the  future  of  the  one  nearest  and  dearest  to  him 
Harry  concluded  to  remain  in  Hillsborough. 

He  accordingly  sent  a  messenger  to  Granville,  ac 
quainting  Rafe  with  his  conclusion,  and  set  himself  to 
waiting  patiently  during  the  time  specified. 

The  time  hung  heavily  on  his  hands,  and  having 
nothing  especial  with  which  to  occupy  his  mind  but 
his  anxiety  to  reach  Boone's  and  meet  his  betrothed  : 
Harry  amused  himself  by  making  acquaintances  among 
the  Hillsborough  people,  and  particularly  in  the  circles 
of  the  Regulators  wherever  he  could  find  them. 

To  this  course  he  was  led,  partly  by  real  sympathy 
with  the  actual  wrongs  against  which  they  were  strug 
gling,  and  partly  by  curiosity  to  discover,  if  possible,  the 
motive  of  Boone's  kidnapping. 

Some  expressions  employed  by  Judge  Anderson  in 
conversation,  and  something  in  his  manner,  had  Jed 
Harry  to  believe  that  he  was  not  entirely  opposed  to 
the  sentiments,  at  least,  which  actuated  the  Regulators; 


1 92  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

or  such  of  them  as  were  in  this  conflict  from  motives  of 
principle. 

Again,  Rafe's  method  of  stating  the  nature  of  the 
Judge's  plans  had  awakened  his  curiosity.  There  waa 
already  "  in  the  air  "  a  feeling  of  antagonism  against  the 
King's  government,  existing  more  strongly,  even,  in 
the  eastern  Colonies  than  in  North  Carolina. 

Even  in  the  latter  Colony,  the  stamp-act,  for  instance, 
had  been  received  with  a  universal  howl  of  execration. 
The  people  rose  and  demanded  from  Gov.  Tryon  the 
person  of  James  Houston,  stamp-master;  who,  on  being 
surrendered,  was  carried  to  the  market-house  at  Wil 
mington,  and  made  to  take  an  oath  that  he  would  not 
execute  his  office  ;  this  had  occurred  in  1765. 

Harry  found  that  this  whole  subject  was  being  freely 
talked  over  among  such  of  the  Regulators  as  he  met, 
and  he  became  impressed  with  the  conviction  that  their 
movement  would  be  eventually  swallowed  up  in  a  far 
grander  one  of  the  same  character.  He  could  proba 
bly  have  gained  much  more  information  than  he  did, 
had  he  been  willing  to  associate  with  Stephen  Roberts. 
But  the  interview  he  had  held  with  the  man  had  prej 
udiced  him  in  his  disfavor ;  and  besides,  he  could  not 
forgive  him  for  the  connection  he  still  believed  him  to 
have  had  with  the  outrage  on  Boone. 

Once  only  during  his  stay  in  Hillsborough  did  Harry 
meet  Stephen  Roberts  face  to  face.  On  this  occasion 
the  Regulator  accosted  him  from  his  own  doorstep,  ana 
desired  to  speak  with  him  ;  Harry  entered  his  office, 
where  he  was  cjetained,  as  it  chanced,  for  nearly  an  hoin 


DANIEL  BOONE.  193 

while  Roberts  plied  him  with  questions  as  to  his  view 
of  public  affairs.  He  was  careful,  however,  to  commu 
nicate  nothing  that  would  disclose  his  own  opinion  ; 
and  Harry  left  him  with  his  mind  in  a  whirl  of  doubt  as 
to  the  reason  why  the  interview  had  taken  place  at  all. 

It  was  not  until  the  middle  of  May  that  Rafe  Slaugh 
ter  arrived  in  Hillsborough  ;  and,  notwithstanding  they 
then  pushed  on  with  great  haste,  they  were  chagrined 
to  find,  on  reaching  Boone's  farm,  that  the  hunter  had 
gone  on  without  them. 

He  had  taken  his  departure  on  May  1st,  and  had 
united  with  him,  John  Findlay,  John  Stuart,  Joseph 
Holden,  and  James  Moncey,  all  experienced  hunters 
and  backwoodsmen,  and  had  left  behind  him  another  ot 
the  party,  William  Cool,  to  guide  the  others  on  his 
trail.  The  party  had  left  the  Yadkin  on  May  1st,  and 
now  it  was  the  2oth  of  that  month,  so  that  Boone  and 
his  companions  had  about  three  weeks'  start. 

Harry  and  Rafe  were  for  proceeding  immediately  to 
follow  Boone's  steps  ;  but  here  a  new  difficulty  present 
ed  itself  in  the  person  of  Maude. 

The  young  girl  had  languished  from  December  until 
May,  fretting  for  her  absent  lover.  Now  that  he  was 
restored  to  her,  only  to  be  again  torn  from  her  side,  her 
heart  rebelled  ;  and  notwithstanding  the  misconstruc 
tion  that  might  be  put  upon  her  wish,  she  declared 
that  he  should  not  go  into  the  wilderness  without  her. 

But  to  this  Harry  would  not  for  a  moment  consent, 
though  it  made  his  heart  bleed  to  leave  her  for  a  long 
and  perilous  absence.  He  had  by  this  time,  and  after 
9 


194  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

discussing  the  matter  fully  with  Rafe,  on  whose  advice 
he  relied,  determined  that  he  would  not  marry  Maude 
until  this  expedition  was  completed,  and  he  was  entitled 
to  the  estate  which  Judge  Anderson  had  promised  him 

As  to  permitting  the  girl  he  loved  and  respected  tc 
accompany  him  in  any  other  position  than  as  his  wife 
he  would  not  listen  tto  it.  In  this  dilemma,  Rafe  made 
a  suggestion  which  promised  to  arrange  the  matter  sat 
isfactorily  to  all  parties. 

As  Maude  was  determined  to  follow  the  fortunes  of 
her  lover,  and  as  Mademoiselle  and  Rose  were  to  ac 
company  her,  Rafe  suggested  a  compromise. 

This  was  to  the  effect  that  Harry  and  the  guide 
whom  Boone  had  left  behind  should  start  at  once  to 
overtake  Boone,  and  that  the  rest  of  the  party  should 
follow  at  about  the  time  when  Boone's  party  would  be 
returning,  and,  meeting  them  on  their  way  back,  should 
return  with  them.  The  females  of  the  party  would 
then  not  have  to  go  far  enough  into  the  woods  for  the 
excursion  to  be  dangerous ;  Harry's  scruples  would  be 
consulted  ;  Maude  would  have  the  prospect  of  rejoin 
ing  her  lover  and  the  promising  excitement  of  the 
journey  to  occupy  her  in  the  meantime ;  and  thus  all 
would  be  satisfied. 

Maude  demurred  a  little  at  first,  as  she  would  still 
experience  the  separation  from  Harry  which  she  de 
plored  ;  but  was  at  length  induced  to  consent  to  this 
arrangement.  Harry  accordingly  bade  her  a  tender 
farewell,  and  set  forth  with  Cool,  while  the  others  pre 
pared  to  wait  the  necessary  period  of  delay — a  period 


BOONR.  195 

which  Rafe  determined  to  make  as  long  as  possible,  so 
as  to  shorten  the  journey  which  Maude  persisted  in  un 
dertaking. 

As  to  the  journey  itself,  so  far  as  the  women  were 
concerned,  nobody  felt  any  particular  doubts  or  scru 
ples.  In  those  days  it  was  common  for  women  and 
even  refined  ladies  to  undertake  long  migrations 
through  the  wilderness. 

It  was  in  fact  no  more  than  Squire  O'Brien's  family 
had  done  less  than  a  dozen  years  before,  and  when  the 
section  to  which  they  migrated  was  nearly  as  wild,  and 
as  much  infested  with  Indians,  as  was  the  region  now 
to  be  explored.  As  for  Maude,  she  was  accustomed  to 
make  long  and  rough  journeys  about  the  country : 
while  Mademoiselle  Raimonde  remembered  very  well, 
and  not  disagreeably,  her  original  migration  from  the 
sea-board  to  the  place  now  occupied  by  the  Squire's 
estate. 

They  would  be  properly  dressed  and  prepared  for  the 
adventure,  and  none  of  the  party  experienced  any  fean 
as  to  their  being  able  to  prosecute  it  safely  and  success 
fully, 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  wry  long  chapter,  in  which  certain  of  the  characters  begin  the  practice  of 
pioneer  life  in  earnest.  The  Reader  makes  a  third  in  a  discussion  ou  moral 
philosophy,  which  is  interrupted  by  a  very  sudden  and  unexpected  occur 
rence,  and  Mike  Dooley  increases  his  knowledge  of  Natural  History. 

THE  reader  who  desires  to  have  a  correct  conception 
of  the  nature  of  the  country  west  of  the  Cumberland 
range  at  the  period  of  this  story,  must  imagine  at  the 
outset,  a  tract  of  territory  extending  beyond  any  limits 
then  known  to  exist,  and  which  had  been  untrodden  by 
the  white  man,  and  was  as  unknown  a  wilderness  as  any 
portion  of  the  globe  ;  but  three  or  four  hunters,  among 
whom,  John  Findlay  was  one,  had  penetrated  this  re 
gion,  and  they  only  to  a  short  distance  of  the  mountain 
range  we  have  just  named. 

From  their  story,  it  was  known  to  the  few  whites 
whom  they  encountered  in  their  frontier  residence,  that 
the  country  that  forms  now  the  eastern  section  of  the 
State  of  Kentucky,  was  extensively  wooded  and  well- 
watered.  The  timber  included  ash,  walnut,  hickory, 
and  sugar-maple ;  in  the  river  bottoms,  cottonwood, 
and  in  some  sections,  the  magnolia,  besides  other  trees 
common  to  this  latitude. 

While  immediately  west  of  the  mountains  it  was  hilly, 

though  with  heights  not  rising  to  any  great  eminence, 
(196) 


DANIEL  BOONE.  jgy 

beyond  and  along  the  valleys  there  v  re  wide-spreading 
plains. 

Here  immense  herds  of  buffalo  ranged  at  will,  and 
the  only  tracks  through  the  limitless  forests  were  formed 
by  them  as  they  went  to  and  from  the  salt-licks  or 
springs  which  were  common  in  Kentucky,  and  were 
necessary  to  their  subsistence. 

As  has  been  already  stated,  this  territory  was  neutral 
ground  so  far  as  the  Indians  were  concerned,  although 
it  actually  belonged  to  the  Cherokees — who  with  the 
Shawnees  and  other  tribes  were  not  infrequently  in 
volved  in  warfare  among  themselves,  a  fact  which  caused 
this  part  of  the  country  to  be  often  the  scene  of  bloody 
contests  when  parties  of  two  hostile  tribes  chanced  to 
meet  in  the  forest  or  on  the  plains. 

Rumors  of  such  contests  were  common  among  the 
peaceful  Indians,  and  through  them  had  reached  the 
whites  along  the  border ;  and  so  it  had  occurred  that 
this  was  known  as  the  "  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground." 

The  tendency  of  the  whole  Colonial  settlement  in 
the  beginning,  as  ever  since,  was  westward. 

With  a  wild  energy  and  enthusiasm  which  would 
seem  to  have  been  bred  into  them  from  the  very  gran 
deur  of  the  country,  the  natives  developed  pioneers  in 
large  numbers,  and  these  constantly  spread  the  tide  of 
emigration,  until  it  seemed  that  no  expanse  of  terri 
tory,  however  great,  would  ever  be  sufficient  to  satisfy 
the  constantly  increasing  demands  of  these  vigorous 
and  hardy  people. 

There-was  a  restlessness,  and  a  desire  for  exploration 


I98  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

forever  being  awakened  among  the  young  men,  which 
had  already  resulted  in  the  production  of  the  class  of 
adventurers  of  whom  Boone,  Findlay,  and  Harrod  were 
types. 

These  men  were  active,  strong,  fearless,  and  accus 
tomed  to  hunting  excursions  ;  far  more  familiar  with 
nature  than  with  men  ;  expert  with  the  rifle  and  the 
knife  ;  never  satisfied  to  remain  upon  their  farms,  or  to 
devote  their  time  to  husbandry  or  other  quiet  and 
peaceful  pursuits. 

It  would  seem  that  the  spirit  that  Boone  confessed 
actuated  him  most,  in  some  measure  directed  them  ; 
yet  among  themselves,  as  Boone  had  stated,  they  were 
little  inclined  to  recognize  such  motives,  but  attributed 
their  course  of  life  purely  to  a  love  of  adventure,  to  the 
excitement  of  the  chase,  and  to  the  natural  impulse  to 
drive  back  the  red  man,  whom  they  hated,  even  though 
the  territory  was  his. 

Two  years  had  passed  since  we  left  the  characters  in 
this  story,  and  since  Boone  had  begun  his  dangerous 
and  adventurous  exploration  into  this  wilderness,  and 
nothing  had  been  heard  either  of  himself  or  his  com- 
panions. 

At  the  time  we  have  now  reached,  his  brother,  Squire 
Boone,  had  set  forth  on  an  undertaking  to  find  him 
and  at  the  same  time  convey  to  him  a  supply  of  ammu 
nition  and  other  necessaries  for  which  he  must  have  by 
this  time  become  in  extreme  want. 

With  the  journey  of  Squire  Boone,  this  story  has 
nothing  to  do,  and  it  needs  only  to  be  said  here,  that 


DANIEL  BOONE.  199 

he  accomplished  his  purpose,  and  despite  the  apparent 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  so  doing,  succeeded  in  follow 
ing  his  brother  through  the  almost  trackless  wilder 
ness,  and  finding  him  encamped. 

It  was  a  lovely  day  in  September,  1771,  when  a  col 
umn  of  smoke  arising  among  the  trees  that  covered  a 
considerable  elevation  standing  at  least  a  hundred  miles 
to  the  north-west  of  what  is  now  known  as  Cumberland 
Gap,  would  have  made  known  to  any  passing  hunter 
or  chance  Indian  who  might  have  been  in  that  vicinity, 
that  some  kind  of  human  life  and  action  occasioned  its 
appearance. 

No  hunter  or  any  Indian  was  near  enough  to  observe 
this  e\  idence  of  camp-life  and  activity,  but  the  reader 
being  placed  in  a  position  to  acquaint  himself  with  what 
was  occurring,  may  become  better  informed. 

A  little  opening  in  the  woods  offered  excellent  facili 
ties  for  encampment,  and  here  a  fresh  fire  had  been 
kindled  whose  smoke  sought  the  clouds  above. 

About  the  fire,  resting  upon  the  grass,  or  moving  in 
pursuit  of  different  duties,  might  have  been  seen  the 
various  persons  whose  intended  emigration  into  the 
wilderness  was  referred  to  in  the  last  chapter. 

The  fire  itself  was  being  sustained  by  Mike  Dooley, 
whose  appearance  was  changed  but  little  since  we  last 
saw  him,  and  who  still  exhibited  the  activity  of  move 
ment  and  vivacity  of  manner  which  had  always  charac 
terized  him. 

Down  ^n  his  knees  in  front  of  the  blazing-  Mgs,  he 
irv;^  vigorous!}-  poU-t;  the  !jo{  coals  together,  prepare 


200  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

tory,  apparently,  to  a  satisfactoiy  culinarj  arrangement 
for  breakfast.  Behind  him,  and  just  appearing  from 
the  woods,  was  Thomas  Hardeman,  bearing  in  his  arms 
a  number  of  newly-cut  fagots  to  replenish  the  fire. 

The  sharp  ringing  of  an  axe  would  have  carried  the 
eye  of  a  spectator  to  where,  some  few  rods  away,  the 
short  but  active  form  of  Rafe  Slaughter  wielded  the 
implement  in  question,  as  he  swung  it  vigorously  with 
his  long  arms,  while  he  cut  the  wood  which  his  compan 
ion  transferred  to  the  point  of  use. 

At  one  side  were  Maude  O'Brien,  her  companion 
Mile.  Raimonde,  and  the  negro  girl  Rose.  Maude  was 
engaged  in  exercising  a  feminine  accomplishment,  as 
she  mended  a  garment  belonging  to  one  of  the  men  of 
the  party,  which  had  evidently  met  with  misfortune. 

Rose  was  busy  getting  out  such  of  the  utensils  as 
were  required  for  cooking.  The  French  woman  was 
employed  in  preparing  breakfast,  which  seemed  to  con 
sist  of  good-sized  venison  steaks  and  coffee.  A  little 
further  off  their  Indian  guide  sat  on  the  stump  of  a  tree, 
cleaning  his  rifle. 

The  party  was  complete  ;  apparently  in  good  health 
and  spirits,  and.  did  not  appear  to  have  suffered  mate 
rially  in  any  particular  from  the  effects  of  their  long 
ourney  and  caanp-life. 

Raising  her  eyes  from  her  occupation,  Mile,  cried 
out  to  Mike  :  "Are  the  coals  ready  ?" 

"  They  be,"  said  Mike,  sententiously. 

"  Then  I  will  go  to  make  the  cuisine,"  she  continued, 
and  at  the  same  moment  proceeded  with  her  steaks, 


DANIEL  BOONE,  2O1 

which  she  carried  on  a  tin  platter,  to  where  Mike  waa 
kneeling,  and  at  once  entered  upon  the  important  duty 
of  cooking  breakfast. 

"  Rafe,"  shouted  Hardeman,  "  unless  you  are  anxious 
for  more  exercise,  you  may  stop  your  chopping  ;  there 
is  more  wood  here  than  we  can  use  in  two  days/' 

Rafe  said  nothing,  but  after  a  few  more  vigorous 
strokes  with  his  axe,  desisted  from  his  labors  and  joined 
the  others. 

"  I  hope  you  rested  well,  Miss  Maude,"  he  said.  The 
young  girl  looked  up  and  smiled  as  she  answered  pleas 
antly  : 

"You  take  such  good  care  of  me,  you  and  Mr.  Harde- 
tnan,  that  it  would  be  cruel  in.  me  to  insinuate  that  I 
did  not  rest  well,  if  it  were  true,  which  it  is  not ;  for  I 
slept  charmingly,  and  feel  equal  to  anything." 

"  To  breakfast,  for  instance,"  said  the  younger  man, 
who  had  now  joined  them  ;  "  such  a  lovely  morning 
would  give  even  a  sick  person  an  appetite." 

"  Well,  Miss  Maude,"  continued  Rafe,  as  he  threw 
himself  by  her  side  on  the  grass ;  "  you  have  by  this 
time  quite  overcome  whatever  fears  you  might  have 
had  at  the  beginning  of  our  undertaking." 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  we  have  seen  nothing  but  beautiful 
things  since  we  left  the  farm,  and  although  I  confess  I 
felt  at  the  beginning  a  little  nervous  as  to  what  we 
might  possibly  meet,  I  am  so  no  longer.  It  would  be 
paying  all  you  brave  fellows  a  poor  compliment  not  to 
feel  safe  in  your  company." 

"  But  I  think,"  said  Hardeman,  "  that  a  good  many 
9* 


202  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

of  the  stories  about  the  Indians  that  have  been  told  by 
the  men  who  have  come  into  this  region,  have  been 
fictions,  or  at  least  exaggerated.  From  all  I  could  learn 
before  I  left  home,  there  are  nothing  but  peaceful  In- 
dians  so  far  east  as  this." 

"Why  should  they  come  here?"  queried  Maude, 
"  when  there  is  so  much  territory,  as  we  hear  there  is, 
quite  as  well  adapted  to  their  wants,  away  to  the  far 
West  of  us?" 

"  Why,  indeed,"  observed  Rafe,  "  I  expect  they  lead 
a  roving  life,  and  go  over  the  whole  continent  if  they 
choose,  at  their  own  pleasure  ;  but  not  far  from  here, 
as  I  learn  from  John,  there  are  favorite  hunting-grounds 
where  the  buffalo  range  in  great  numbers,  and  are,  of 
course,  an  attraction  to  the  Indians." 

"  John,"  he  continued,  looking  toward  the  Indian 
guide,  "  how  far  do  you  think  we  are'  from  the  nearest 
buffalo  range  ?  " 

The  Indian  looked  up,  and  ceased  a  moment  from 
his  occupation  of  cleaning  his  gun.  He  was  a  Chero 
kee,  familiarly  known  as  Indian  John,  and  who  had 
been  picked  up  by  Rafe  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Yadkin, 
whither  he  used  to  go,  about  once  a  year,  on  his  way 
to  the  nearest  settlement,  with  peltries  to  exchange  for 
ammunition.  Among  the  frontiersmen  he  had  a  good 
reputation  for  honesty  and  fidelity;  a  man  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  he  was  nearly  six  feet  in  height,  rugged, 
and  straight  as  an  arrow,  while  his  aspect  was  fearless 
and  dignified,  without  being  in  the  least  savage. 

"  Ugh ! "  he  said,  as  he  prepared  to  answer  Rafe's 


DANIEL  BOONS.  203 

question;  "buffalo  plenty  one — two — three  day  jour 
ney  way  there."  As  he  named  the  days,  he  numbered 
them  off  on  his  fingers,  and  then  pointed  westward  with 
his  left  hand  to  signify  the  direction. 

"  So  near?"  said  Rafe,  surprised. 

"  Do  dou  think,"  said  Maude,  addressing  the  Indian, 
"we  will  find  any  Indians  there,  John?" 

"  Indian  not  there  now.  Bime  by  come  plenty.  Get 
buffalo  meat.  Ugh  ! " 

"  Then,  according  to  that,"  said  Hardeman,  "  before 
'bime  by'  comes,  we  would  do  well  to  be  past  the  hunt 
ing-ground." 

"  Exactly,"  remarked  Rafe ;  "  at  present  we  will  take 
a  day  for  rest,  and  then  we  will  push  on." 

"  Our  larder  needs  replenishing,"  observed  Maude ; 
"  Mile,  tells  me  that  we  are  going  to  eat  our  last  meat 
for  breakfast." 

"  Well,"  said  Rafe,  "  one  of  us  will  go  out  this  morn 
ing,  and  we  are  very  certain  to  see  a  deer ;  at  least  we 
have  been  fortunate  in  that  direction  thus  far." 

By  this  time  the  pleasant  aroma  of  coffee  signified 
that  the  meal  was  about  prepared,  and  presently  Mile, 
called  all  to  breakfast. 

Though  leading  a  rough  life  ;  sleeping  at  night  on  a 
bed  of  boughs,  and  often  with  nothing  but  the  heavens 
over  them,  save  that  sometimes  a  rude  wigwam  was 
hastily  constructed  by  the  men  in  times  of  storm  for 
the  shelter  of  the  females  ;  notwithstanding  these  con 
ditions  and  all  the  inconveniences  of  camp-life,  the 
party  were  not  accustomed  to  surrendering  all  their 


204  THE  LTFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

civilized  habits ;  and  leaving  her  sewing  to  be  completed 
at  another  time,  Maude  proceeded  to  make  prepara 
tions  for  the  meal. 

From  one  of  the  knapsacks  which  were  borne  by  the 
men  of  the  party,  a  clean  cloth  was  taken  and  spread! 
upon  the  grass,  and  upon  this  the  tin  plates  and  dishes, 
the  delft  cups  for  coffee,  and  the  other  necessary  arti 
cles  for  a  comfortable  and  not  altogether  a  savage  meal, 
were  soon  neatly  arranged  ;  then  the  tempting  steaks 
were  placed  before  the  hungry  travelers,  and  with  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  the  inevitable  fried  pork  and  corn-dodgers, 
which  were  staple  articles — the  corn-meal  not  having 
yet  been  quite  exhausted — a  quite  palatable  and  suf 
ficient  repast  was  obtained. 

One  day  was  like  another  in  these  particulars  in  the 
present  life  of  our  friends,  varied  only  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  food  enjoyed  by  the  variety  furnished  through 
the  skill  and  good  luck  of  the  hunters. 

Sometimes  a  wild  turkey  graced  the  board  ;  some 
times  wild  pigeons,  of  which  large  numbers  were  occa 
sionally  met,  furnished  an  agreeable  substitute ;  and 
occasionally  these  were  exchanged  for  rabbits  or  squir 
rels,  of  which  the  woods  were  full ;  no  wild  animals  but 
deer  had  been  seen  by  them  since  entering  the  woods, 
but  Indian  John  not  infrequently  warned  them  to  be 
on  the  look-out  for  catamounts  and  bears,  which  were 
by  no  means  uncommon  in  those  parts. 

The  meal  over,  Rose  devoted  herself  to  cleansing  and 
gathering  together  the  utensils  and  dishes,  which  were 
placed  on  one  side  ready  for  future  use.  Maude  re- 


DAXIEL  BOONE.  2O$ 

turned  to  her  sewing,  and  Hardeman  and  the  guide 
started  into  the  woods  for  game.  Rafe  remained  be 
hind  with  Mike  to  keep  guard  over  the  camp. 

Rafe  and  Maude  had  long  before  this  become  great 
friends.  The  peculiar  nature  of  Judge  Anderson's  sec 
retary  of  which  a  special  characteristic  was  reticence, 
had  expanded  under  the  glow  of  a  disposition  so  gentle 
and  tender,  yet  withal  so  earnest  and  forceful  as  Maude's. 

Rafe  had  constituted  himself  her  special  guardian 
during  their  peregrinations  ;  and  especially  at  night,  he 
watched  over  her  with  a  care  and  fidelity  which  would 
have  been  remarkable  in  any  man  accustomed  to  ties 
of  relationship  or  friendship  with  many  women.  To 
one  like  Rafe,  who  had  hitherto  had  but  little  associa 
tion  with  the  fair  sex,  rather  avoiding  women,  it  was 
impressive  that  the  least  thought  of  gallantry  never 
entered  into  his  mind  in  connection  with  Maude  ;  yet 
his  devotion  to  her  might  have  been  that  of  a  lover,  so 
true  and  constant  was  it. 

Often  in  the  dead  watches  of  the  night,  even  when  he 
was  not  on  guard,  Maude  had  awakened  to  see  the 
spectral  figure  of  the  secretary  marked  against  the  sky, 
as,  leaning  on  his  rifle,  regardless  of  what  other  pro 
lector  she  might  have,  he  kept  watch  over  her  with  a 
devotion  that  was  sleepless  and  untiring. 

Not  an  unaccustomed  sound  could  occur,  a  move 
ment  ir  the  underbrush,  or  the  fall  of  a  tree  in  the 
distance,  but  he  was  on  the  alert  to  assume  his  posi 
tion  of  guardian  of  the  fair  girl  whom  he  had  taken 
into  his  charge. 


206  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Meanwhile  their  daily  association  had  brought  out 
the  salient  points  of  the  characters  of  both.  With  hei 
heart  full  of  love  for  Harry  Calvert,  and  her  mind  con- 
stantly  weaving  new  threads  of  life  from  her  impres 
sions  of  him,  Maude  naturally  desired  to  converse  most 
on  this  congenial  topic,  yet  her  modesty  was  such  as  to 
prevent  her  from  introducing  it. 

But  Rafe  divined  quite  readily  what  subject  would 
most  closely  engage  the  thoughts  of  this  pure  young 
girl ;  and,  when  opportunity  offered,  would  frequently 
occupy  the  time  in  recalling  pleasant  memories  of  the 
absent  lover. 

During  their  journey  to  Granville  County,  and  after 
ward  on  their  return  westward,  Harry  had  manifested 
a  cheerfulness  of  disposition  and  character,  with  a  skill 
in  conversation,  which  rendered  him  a  most  agreeable 
companion. 

There  was  nothing  hidden  beneath  the  frank  and 
open  exterior  of  the  young  man  which  need  fear  inves 
tigation  on  being  brought  to  light ;  and  Rafe,  with  real 
satisfaction,  had  learned  to  esteem  and  respect  his  com 
panion  and  friend  for  many  qualities  and  virtues  which 
did  not  at  once  appear  on  the  surface. 

It  was  now  most  agreeable  to  him  to  recall  such  im 
pressions,  and  to  strengthen  in  the  mind  of  the  eager, 
happy  girl  who  listened  to  him,  her  own  admiration  for 
her  cousin.  So  that  the  conversation  between  the  two 
on  this  occasion,  as  was  usually  the  case,  had  reference 
to  the  one  subject  of  interest  to  them  both. 

"  Rafe,"  said  Maude,  after  the  latter  had  occupied 


BOONS.  20; 

some  time  in  relating  incidents,  not  already  told,  con 
nected  with  their  journeying  together ;  "  Rafe,  you 
have  described  to  me  much  of  what  my  cousin  said  to 
you,  and  of  his  general  manner  and  conduct  while  with 
you.  Now,  won't  you  tell  me  just  what  you  think  of 
him?  I  want  to  know  how  his  character  and  tempera 
ment  appear  to  an  entirely  unprejudiced  person.  Of 
course,  I  have  my  own  opinion,"  she  added,  archly,  and 
with  a  slight  heightening  of  her  color. 

"  But  you  are,"  said  Rafe,  laughing,  "  not  '  an  un 
prejudiced  person.' ' 

"  Clearly  not,"  replied  the  girl,  "  since  we  are  bound 
together  by  ties  of  relationship." 

"  Very  well  put,"  observed  Rafe  •  "  and  in  return  for 
your  ingenuity,  I  will  answer  your  question  just  as  I 
know  it  was  meant. 

"  I  did  have  a  constant  opportunity  for  forming  an 
Jtitelligent  idea  of  Harry's  character  and  temperament, 
and  I  may  observe  that  while  I  would  naturally  have 
studied  these  in  your  interest — that  is,  in  the  interest 
of  both  of  you — I  had  also  other  reasons,  which  were 
no  less  important  to  my  mind,  to  lead  me  to  this 
course.' 

Rafe  paused,  and  Maude  looked  at  him  with  some 
surprise  manifested  in  her  countenance  ;  she  said  noth 
ing,  however,  and  he  continued  : 

"  Your  cousin  is  one  of  that  kind  of  men  who  mature 
late.  From  all  I  can  gather,  he  has  hitherto  led  a  com 
paratively  indolent,  and,  to  some  extent,  purposeless 
life ;  but  this  has  not  been  on  account  of  any  lack  of 


268  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

capacity,  or  any  fatal  tendency  toward  constant  idle, 
ness,  such  as  is  the  besetting  sin  of  many  of  our  young 
men  in  the  best  circles  in  our  largest  cities. 

"In  Baltimore  it  is  particularly  the  case,  as  I  happen 
to  know  from  my  own  experience  there ;  and  Harry 
with  his  expectations  and  the  circumstances  surround 
ing  him,  might  very  readily  have  been  much  more  lazy 
and  useless  than  he  really  was. 

"  The  fact  is,  however,  that  although  he  went  gen 
erally  into  society,  and  passed  much  of  his  time  in 
amusing  himself,  he  also  conducted  the  affairs  of  his 
plantation  judiciously,  and  with  a  proper  sense  of  his 
position  as  a  man  having  the  control  and  direction  of 
numerous  instruments. 

"  I  shall  have  to  concede  that  the  time  he  passed  at 
Mount  Mourne  drew  much  from  his  employment  in 
that  direction,  and  also  that  you  yourself  are  respon 
sible  for  what  captious  critics  would  call  '  idleness ' 
during  that  period." 

Maude  flushed  a  little,  and  seemed  about  to  speak, 
but  Rafe  continued  : 

"  I  am  not  a  captious  critic,  and  I  can  readily  excuse 
a  young  man  for  desiring  to  occupy  as  much  of  his  time 
as  possible  in  such  beautiful  society." 

"  Now,  Rafe,"  interrupted  Maude,  "  you  know  you 
promised  me  long  ago  that  you  wouldn't  pay  me  com 
pliments." 

"  But,  my  dear  young  friend,"  he  said,  "  that  is  no 
compliment  to  you,  but  to  your  cousin." 

"  Oh  ! "  she  replied,  laughing,  "  that  puts   another 


D^:\l£l  3OONE. 

face  on  the  matter  altogether,  and  I  shall  have  to  com 
pliment  you — on  your  '  ingenuity.'  " 

'  Now,  all  this  being  the  case,"  continued  Rafe,  "  and 
admitting  what  I  have  just  said  in  regard  to  his  charac 
ter  and  intelligence  in  managing  his  affairs,  still  one 
would  not  look  for  the  thoughtful  manliness  and  deter 
mination  which  I  have  discerned  in  Harry  Calvert. 

"  You  know  our  trip  after  Boone  was  conducted  un 
der  circumstances  offering  peculiar  hardship  to  a  young 
man  like  him. 

"  In  the  first  place,  we  started  off  in  such  haste  that 
we  were  quite  unprepared,  never  imagining  our  expedi 
tion  was  going  to  last  nearly  so  long  as  it  did. 

"  In  the  next  place,  the  work  we  had  to  do,  and  which 
we  accomplished,  was  entirely  foreign  to  him  as  it  was 
to  all  of  us,  except  by  reason  of  what  we  might  have 
picked  up  or  heard,  or  read  concerning  the  mysteries 
of  woodcraft  and  detective  business  in  general. 

"  You  have  never  been  told  half  of  what  we  went 
through  during  those  months  of  search  through  the 
woods,  and  by  unfrequented  roads,  often  not  even  see 
ing  any  person  in  a  month's  time. 

"  It  was  a  splendid  preparation  for  the  undertaking 
we  have  now  begun,  and  as  it  has  proved  of  good  service 
to  me,  so  I  am  quite  certain  it  has  benefited  your 
cousin,  But  what  I  was  going  to  say  was,  that  he  dis 
played,  all  through,  marked  characteristics,  which,  being 
unlocked  for  on  my  part,  were  all  the  more  satisfactory 
when  found." 

"  No  amount  of  exposure  or  even  danger  could  detei 


210  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

him  from  any  course  which  seemed  to  him  the  most 
right,  and  most  direct  to  achieve  his  purpose ;  and  he 
displayed,  moreover,  a  sunny  geniality  of  temper,  and 
amiability  of  character,  which  are  seldom  met  with  in  a 
man ;  and,  if  you  will  excuse  me  for  saying  it,  still  less 
frequently  in  women." 

"  Oh  !  Oh ! "  cried  Maude,  holding  up  both  hands, 
"  how  can  you  permit  yourself  to  be  carried  away  by 
your  flow  of  language  and  your  desire  to  praise  Harry, 
to  such  an  extent  as  to  make  an  invidious  comparison 
of  that  sweeping  character  ?  " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  whatever  else  it  was,  it  was 
not  sweeping  ;  at  least  not  in  my  mind.  I  venture  to  say 
it  to  you,  because  I  trust  that  your  knowledge  of  yourself 
must  show  you  that  you  possess  in  a  remarkable  degree 
the  qualifications  I  name ;  and  which,  I  will  say,  I  con 
sider  to  be  the  most  beautiful  that  are  given  by  a  benef 
icent  Providence  to  man  or  woman. 

"  It  would  not  be  giving  your  intelligence  due  justice 
to  imagine  that  you  will  deny  yourself  the  possession 
of  these  qualities.  It  would  be  equally  hard  upon  you 
to  assume  ignorance  on  your  part  of  my  capacity  to 
perceive  their  existence." 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  be  a  preacher,  or  a  lawyer,  or 
something  else  that  requires  the  gift  of  a  great  many 
words  to  tangle  up  one's  ideas  and  impressions." 

"  Or  a  '  medicine  man,'  "  put  in  Rafe. 

"  Yes,  or  a  '  medicine  man,'  whatever  that  is.  I  know 
I  ought  to  scold  you  well  for  your  caustic  criticism  ol 
the  majority  of  my  sex ;  but  really,  after  the  redundancy 


DANIEL  BOONS.  211 

of  your  argument,  I  have  not  the  words  or  the  courage 
to  attempt  it." 

"  An  omission  in  your  own  mental  structure,  or  yout 
present  capacity,  for  which  I  am  profoundly  grateful," 
said  Rafe  ;  "  but  to  return,  Harry  is  eminently  amiable, 
but  at  the  same  time,  as  we  had  opportunity  for  wit 
nessing  during  that  fight  with  the  Regulators,  he  has 
remarkable  courage,  and  stern  determination  when 
these  are  required. 

"  During  our  journey  to  Granville,  and  afterward  on 
our  return  together  from  Hillsborough  to  Boone's  place, 
Harry  conversed  very  freely  with  me  as  to  his  views  on 
many  subjects. 

"  While  in  regard  to  his  own  matters  he  showed  a 
clearness  of  vision  and  foresight  that  I  would  not  have 
anticipated,  he  was  none  the  less  thorough  and  accu 
rate  in  his  views  of  public  affairs. 

"  His  determination  to  sell  his  property,  and  strike 
out  in  a  new  line,  in  a  new  country,  and  secure  for  him 
self  a  life  of  which  you  should  be  the  sharer ;  this  de 
termination  was  certainly  courageous,  and  would  seem 
at  the  first  glance  almost  foolhardy. 

"  It  required,  also,  no  little  degree  of  moral  courage 
on  the  part  of  both  of  you  to  proceed  in  a  course 
whose  immediate  result  was  to  be  the  bringing  about  of 
a  family  convulsion  and  disruption  which  would  deter 
most  men  and  women  from  such  action. 

"  I  know  perfectly  well,  perhaps  few  better,  the 
serious  nature  of  these  family  and  social  disturbances. 
In  a  general  way,  where  it  is  practicable,  and  where  it 


212  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

scorns  in  the  line  of  right,  they  should  be  avoided,  il 
for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  always  appears  unfor- 
tunate  to  make  many  persons  suffer,  in  order  to  pro- 
mote  the  happiness  and  well-being  of  a  few." 

Rafe's  remarks  had  now  assumed  so  grave  a  cast 
that  the  young  girl  beside  him  listened  eagerly  and 
very  seriously  to  his  words.  She  sat  with  her  face 
resting  on  her  hand,  and  her  own  mind  followed  his 
closely,  while  it  unconsciously  retrograded  as  well,  and 
she  recalled  the  aspect  of  affairs  which  she  had  left  be* 
hind  her  at  Mount  Mourne. 

Many  times  her  own  conscience  had  upbraided  her 
for  her  share  in  the  transactions  of  that  eventful  day 
which  had  seen  the  departure  of  all  of  them  from  her 
home,  leaving  behind  them  a  broken  and  saddened 
household. 

Arguments  in  favor  of  her  course  had  not  been  want 
ing  to  her  mind ;  but  they  had  resolved  themselves  into 
that  strongest  argument  of  all,  to  the  heart  and  mind 
of  a  woman  who  loves  :  the  wish  and  determination  of 
her  lover. 

As  it  now  seemed  that  she  was  perhaps  to  be  brought 
into  contact  with  reasoning  from  the  stand-point  of  a 
man's  broader  perception  of  right  and  wrong,  she  could 
not  but  await  anxiously  the  nature  and  character  of  the 
logic  that  was  to  be  used. 

"  It  seems  hard  and  even  cruel,"  continued  Rafe, 
from  his  last  remark,  "that  suffering  of  this  nature 
and  for  such  a  reason,  should  occur ;  yet  is  it  not  a 
feet  that  this  is  the  law  of  nature,  in  its  application  tc 


DANIKL  BOONS.  213 

all  humanity  ?  Do  not  the  purposes  of  life  appear  to  be 
carried  out  with  utter  disregard  of  individual  conditions 
and  feelings  ?  Is  it  not  nearly  always  the  case  that  the 
larger  number  suffer  in  order  that  the  smaller  number 
shall  be  wiser  and  happier?" 

'  As  you  have  said  to  me,"  replied  Maude,  thought 
fully,  "  it  does  seem  so.  Thus  we  find  that  wars  are 
carried  on  v/ith  the  sacrifice  of  large  numbers  of  people 
and  enormous  amounts  of  wealth — which  means  pov 
erty  to  still  larger  numbers — and  for  the  promotion  of 
ideas,  which,  though  they  benefit  the  world  in  the  end, 
are  long  in  doing  so,  and  then,  it  may  be,  only  benefit 
i  few." 

"  You  exactly  understand  my  proposition,"  said  Rafe, 
his  face  brightening  as  he  perceived  the  quick  intelli 
gence  of  the  girl,  and  the  fact  that  she  had,  herself, 
views  on  these  abstract  questions. 

"  The  religions  of  the  East,  where  I  lived  for  several 
years,  and  studied  closely  its  customs  and  society : 
these  include  the  sacrifice  of  the  individual  in  entire 
obliviousness  of  that  regard  for  life  which  we  expe 
rience  in  Europe  and  in  this  country. 

"  The  Buddhist  and  Brahmin  never  reflects  on  familj 
ties  for  an  instant,  where  those  conflict  with  what  he 
esteems  to  be  his  duty  in  any  instance.  And  this 
course  of  conduct  is  not  confined  to  the  East.  The 
greatest  works  that  have  been  performed  by  man  have 
occurred  without  consideration  of  such  ties,  or  of  any 
obligations  whatsoever,  except  the  completion  of  the 
labor  in  hand. 


214  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  Now  I  know  that  this,  if  formulated  as  a  law 
would  seem  simply  horrible  to  a  Christian  and  civilized 
person  of  our  time.  It  would  appear  also  almost  in 
congruous  to  draw  upon  such  illustration,  or  series  of 
illustrations,  to  emphasize  an  instance,  like  your  par 
ticular  case. 

"  But  I  am  now  thinking  of  the  integrity  and  the 
wisdom  of  my  friend  ;  and  in  sustaining  these  qualities 
in  him  I  feel  that  I  have  a  right  to  draw  my  illustra 
tions,  if  necessary,  from  the  heavens  above,  from  the 
earth  beneath,  or  from  the  waters  under  the  earth — to 
bring  them  down  to  this  case,  or,  rather,  to  raise  the 
Batter  up  to  its  proper  dignity. 

"  And  to  signify  what  important  results  may  grow 
out  of  this  seemingly  cruel  course,  I  will  say  this :  Sup 
pose  that  Harry  has  formed  his  design,  and  carried  it 
out,  after  the  manner  I  have  mentioned,  and  which  you 
and  I  understand. 

"  We  will  say  that  you  are  happily  united —  and  by 
that  I  don't  mean  by  your  meeting  each  other,  out  here 
in  the  wilderness,  for  that  I  consider  is  a  foregone  con 
clusion — that  you  are  united  permanently,  in  such  a 
home  as  he  purposes  establishing. 

"  Your  migration  will  encourage  others,  whom,  the 
necessary  hardships  which  you  will  encounter  will  not 
deter,  and  the  result  will  be,  that  a  settlement  will  be 
made,  and  this  new  and  beautiful  country  through 
which  we  are  passing,  will  become  in  time  populated. 

"  The  settlement  will  grow  into  towns,  and  these  will 
flourish  and  increase  in  population  and  wealth  and  in- 


DANIEL  BOONE.  21 5 

fluence,  until  they  become  cities.  We  know  what  has 
occurred  in  a  single  century  on  this  continent,  and  I  am 
greatly  deceived  if  the  next  century  will  not  make  the 
change  toward  advancement  so  much  greater  and  more 
comprehensive  that  it  will  entirely  dwarf  our  present 
surroundings." 

The  speaker,  as  he  gazed  into  vacancy  while  uttering 
his  latest  words,  seemed  wrapt  in  the  contemplations 
which  had  arisen  in  his  mind.  For  the  moment  he 
was  silent  ;  then  he  said,  enthusiastically,  rising  at  the 
same  moment,  and  extending  his  hand  westward  : 
"  Does  not  good  Bishop  Berkeley  say  with  almost  the 
vivid  force  of  a  prediction — 

'  '  No  pent-up  Utica  contracts  our  powers, 

For  the  whole  boundless  continent  is  ours  '  ?  " 

At  this  moment  a  diversion  occurred  which  was  as 
unexpected  as  it  was  startling. 

While  the  two  had  been  conversing,  Mike  Dooley 
had  amused  himself,  by  cutting  a  rod  and  throwing  an 
impromptu  fishing-line  into  the  stream  which  flowed 
past  a  little  ways  down  in  the  valley. 

Mademoiselle  sat  at  some  distance,  under  a  tree, 
reading. 

Rose,  after  the  manner  of  her  kind,  had  flung  herself 
on  her  back  in  the  sunshine,  and  was  sleeping  peace 
fully,  and  snoring  not  so  much  so. 

To  this  latter  maiden,  there  occurred,  at  this  junct 
ure,  an  incident  which,  coming  upon  her  in  her  som 
nolent  condition,  and  being  decidedly  of  a  novel  nature, 


.  THE  LJFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

roused  the  young  woman  to  immediate  wakefulness,  and 
loud  cries  of  fear  and  horror. 

Something  large  and  heavy,  and  evidently  very  much 
alive,  had  projected  itself  from  a  tree  which  overhung 
the  place  where  she  was  reclining  ;  her  first  intimation 
of  the  intruder  being  a  heavy  blow  upon  the  less  vital 
portion  of  her  anatomy — that  is,  her  head — which  was 
sufficiently  powerful  to  turn  her  completely  over,  and 
roll  her  sideways  down  the  hill,  on  whose  summit  she 
had  been  peacefully  resting. 

Startled  by  the  screams  which  burst  from  the  lips  of 
the  negro  girl,  Maude  sprang  to  her  feet ;  while  Mad 
emoiselle,  gathering  her  drapery  about  her,  rushed  to 
where  Rafe  and  her  young  mistress  were  standing,  as 
to  the  safest  spot,  and  proceeded  to  scream  quite  as 
vociferously  as  Rose  herself. 

Mike  Dooley,  hearing  the  outcry,  dropped  his  pole 
and  hurried  up  the  hill ;  but  on  arriving  at  the  scene  of 
excitement  stood  transfixed,  and  joined  his  voice  to  the 
others  after  his  own  peculiar  manner. 

"  Milly,  murthers  ! "  he  yelled,  "  will  you  look  at  the 
baste  ?  Shu  re  it  is  the  biggest  tom-cat  I  iver  saw  in 
me  loif." 

The  "baste"  in  question,  and  at  which  all  were  now 
gazing  in  manifest  anxiety,  to  say  the  least,  was  un 
doubtedly  an  animal  of  the  cat  kind,  but  being  about 
four  feet  long,  and  evidently  built  for  heavy  work,  was 
no  pleasant  antagonist  to  encounter. 

The  two  ladies  were  now  clinging  wildly  to  Rafe. 

The  animal,  evidently  quite  as  much  surprised  and 


DANIEL 

startled  as  any  one  present,  rested  on  its  haunches, 
and  gazed  from  one  to  the  other,  uncertain  whether  to 
attack  or  retreat. 

It  was  an  enormous  panther,  and  the  first  one,  in  its 
wild  state,  that  any  of  the  party  had  ever  seen. 

Rafe's  mind  worked  with  considerable  speed  at  this 
juncture. 

His  rifle  was  a  dozen  paces  behind  him.  To  go  for 
it,  was  to  leave  the  girls  to  their  fate,  not  to  speak  of 
the  others.  He  had  no  knife  about  him,  and  the  axe 
which  he  had  used  so  actively  a  few  hours  earlier,  he 
had  carelessly  dropped  by  the  side  of  the  last  tree  he 
had  been  cutting. 

It  did  not  take  but  a  few  seconds  of  time  for  these 
reflections  to  pass  through  his  brain,  and  then  his  mind 
made  itself  up,  and  his  body  acted,  executing  the  work 
cut  out  for  it. 

He  suddenly,  but  not  roughly,  threw  the  ladies  from 
him,  and  made  a  quick  run  to  the  fire,  which  was  still 
smouldering. 

A  few  good-sized  logs  were  upon  it ;  and  in  an  in 
stant  he  had  grasped  the  cold  end  of  one  of  these. 
The  next  moment,  he  sprang  right  upon  the  panther 
with  the  red  and  blazing  end  of  the  wood  directed 
toward  it. 

Rafe,  with  his  strong  and  agile  form,  and  his  unex 
pected  blow  from  a  weapon,  wielded  so  many  feet  away 
from  his  shoulder,  by  reason  of  his  long  arm,  must  have 
been  a  sufficiently  inexplicable  vision  to  the  beast. 

The  immediate  effect  was,  that  the  latter  became  so 
10 


LIFE  AATD  TLVfBS  GP  DANIEL 

terror-stricken  as  to  neglect  arranging  for  his  safety— 
during  the  only  moment  when  this  would  have  been  ol 
any  use. 

The  blazing  branch  came  down  upon  him,  full  in  the 
face  ;  and  with  a  loud  roar,  he  rolled  over  on  his  back, 
and  down  the  hill  straight  to  where  Mike  was  standing. 

The  latter  gave  a  howl  of  fright,  and  turned  to  escape 
from  the  horrible  animal ;  but  he  was  too  late.  The 
revolving  body  of  the  panther  struck  his  legs,  over 
threw  him,  and  the  two  rolled  to  the  bottom  of  the 
hill  in  confusion. 

Rafe,  at  once  perceiving  what  was  about  to  happen, 
had  dropped  his  brand,  and  with  a  few  quick  steps 
gained  his  rifle,  which  was  fortunately  loaded  ;  and 
now  hurried  down  the  hill  to  the  rescue  of  the  Irish 
man,  whom  he  found  at  the  bottom  actually  in  the 
clutches  of  the  infuriated  and  panic-stricken  animal. 

Rafe's  quick  sight,  nerve,  and  muscle  were  sufficient 
for  the  occasion. 

In  a  moment  the  loud  crack  of  the  rifle  rang  out, 
and  as  the  two  girls  reached  the  decline,  they  saw  the 
body  of  the  panther  writhing  in  the  death  agony ; 
while  Mike  gathered  himself  together,  none  the  worse 
for  his  tussle,  except  for  a  few  scratches,  and  that  his 
Already  ragged  garments  were  rendered  still  more  un 
sightly. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

the  party  of  amateur  explorers  receives  an  unexpected  addition  to  its  numbwt, 
and  Rose  once  more  experiences  a  collision  with  a  piece  of  paper,  whfch  is 
not  without  its  own  importance. 

"  BED  AD,  Misther  Slaughter,  you  were  just  in  the  nick 
o'  time  to  save  him." 

"  Save  who,  Mike?"  said  Rafe,  looking  astonished. 

"  Why,  the  baste,  the  venimous  reptile,  the  pussy 
cat  !  and  do  you  see  the  eyes  o'  him  ?  Begorra,  they 
look  like  two  wax  candles  at  a  wake !  " 

"Yes,  but,  Mike,"  interrupted  Rafe,  "what  do  you 
mean  by  saving  him  ?  he  doesn't  look  much  as  if  he 
was  saved  now  ";  and  he  touched  the  body  of  the  pan 
ther  with  his  foot. 

"Arrah!  Misther  Rafe,  don't  you  see?  I  meant,  you 
saved  him  from  being  kilt  intirely  by  meself ;  hadn't  I 
just  got  him  by  the  fur  of  him  ?  Wasn't  I  choking  him 
when  you  come  in  ?  Be  jabers !  in  two  minutes  more 
he'd  been  a  dead  cat." 

Maude  and  Mile,  had  by  this  time  been  tempted  by 
their  curiosity  to  overcome  their  fears  and  descend  the 
hill  to  look  at  the  dead  panther  ;  they  heard  Mike's  last 
remark,  and  Maude  said  : 

"The  cat,  Mike?  You  must  think  it  is  a  pretty 
large  cat." 


220  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"You're  right,  Miss,  I  do  ;  I  never  seen  bigger;  and 
its  astonishing  altogether  !  Bcdad,  I  seen  a  pussy-cat 
before  now,  when  it  was  frightened  and  mad  like,  swell 
up  its  tail  until  it  was  as  big  as  the  whole  of  it  ;  but  it 
come  down  afterward  to  its  natural  size.  But  this  cat 
swelled  up  the  whole  of  it  to  ten  times  the  original 
and  begorra  !  savin'  your  presence,  it's  that  way  still.  1 
don't  ondersthand  it." 

All  laughed  at  Mike's  extraordinary  idea  of  the  trans- 
formation  of  a  tom-cat  into  a  panther  four  feet  long. 

But  it  was  hopeless  to  try  and  explain  the  matter ;  so 
after  admiring  the  beautiful  fur  of  the  animal,  they  as 
cended  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  leaving  Mike  to  undertake 
the  duty  of  skinning  it  ;  and  as  he  said  he  had  often 
skinned  rabbits,  and  even  cats,  in  his  boyhood,  he  had 
no  diffidence  about  undertaking  the  present  task. 

As  they  reached  the  camp,  the  hunters  came  in  hur 
riedly,  as  though  under  some  excitement.  They  had 
no  game  with  them  ;  which  was  explained,  however,  in 
a  few  words. 

"  We  heard  your  rifle,"  said  Hardeman,  "  and,  think 
ing  something  might  be  wrong,  we  dropped  what  we 
had  shot,  and  ran  in  as  fast  as  possible." 

The  panther  episode  was  explained  ;  and  then,  while 
Indian  John  went  off  to  pick  up  the  game,  Hardeman 
joined  the  others  and  went  down  to  view  Rafe's  prize. 

The  whole  story  had  to  be  related  for  Hardeman's 
benefit;  and  by  that  tin: e  John  had  returned,  bringing 
in  two  wild  turkeys,  a  string  of  pigeons,  and  a  brace  of 
rabbits. 


DANIEL  BOOtiE.  221 

It  was  now  past  noon,  and  as  all  were  very  hiingrj 
after  the  incidents  of  the  morning,  the  ladies  were  soon 
engaged  in  preparing  dinner ;  and  while  John  relieved 
Mike,  who  was  making  a  rather  poor  job  of  skinning 
the  panther,  the  latter  employed  himself  in  picking  the 
birds. 

Taking  an  opportunity  when  Maude  and  Mile,  were 
at  some  distance  from  them,  Hardeman  signified  to 
Rafe  that  he  wished  to  speak  to  him  privately. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that  about  two  miles 
from  here  we  struck  a  trail !  " 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  said  Rafe  ;  "  not  Indians,  I  hope  ?  " 

"While  that  is  possible,"  observed  the  other,  "yet 
John  was  very  certain  it  was  white  men.  There  were 
two  of  them  and  they  wore  moccasins.  But  something 
in  the  weight  of  the  tread,  or  something  else  that  was 
past  my  finding  out,  indicated  to  him  that  they  were 
certainly  not  Indians.  He  said  he  was  sure  of  it." 

"  Which  way  were  they  going?  "  asked  Rafe. 

"  Directly  west ;  and  they  are  already  past  this 
camp." 

Rafe  reflected  a  few  moments.  He  was  not  aware 
that  any  parties  contemplated  coming  out  after  them, 
and  still  it  was  not  improbable  that  such  might  be  the 
case.  The  exploration  fever  had  awakened  a  good 
deal  of  interest  on  the  frontier ;  and  the  fact  of  Boone 
and  so  many  other  men  having  started  out  on  an  expe 
dition,  evidently  backed  up  by  a  direct  purpose,  had 
stimulated  a  great  deal  of  interest  among  the  hardy 
backwoodsmen. 


222  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Altogether  Rafe  was  not  seriously  disturbed  by  the 
incident.  Indeed,  he  would  have  welcomed  an  addition 
to  their  number,  provided  he  could  have  been  certain  oi 
its  character.  Having  ladies  under  his  charge,  how 
ever,  he  felt  a  deep  sense  of  responsibility  ;  and  know 
ing  that  the  character  of  many  of  those  who  led  a  fron 
tier  life  was  not  of  the  best,  he  experienced  some 
doubts. 

But  there  would  be  time  enough  to  meet  an  annoy 
ance,  if  this  should  prove  to  be  one,  when  it  made  its 
appearance. 

It  having  been  determined  to  remain  where  they 
were  during  the  following  night,  and  to  commence  mov 
ing  on  their  journey  early  the  next  morning,  the  after 
noon  was  passed  in  such  pursuits  as  occurred  to  the 
various  members  of  the  party ;  and  nightfall  found 
them  tired  and  ready  for  sleep. 

As  has  already  been  intimated,  it  was  the  custom  of 
the  men  to  mount  guard  by  turns  during  the  night. 

At  this  season  the  pleasant  evenings  were  long,  the 
full  moon  rose  shortly  after  twilight,  and  as  Rafe  had 
the  first  watch,  which  would  be  until  twelve  o'clock, 
the  others  were  soon  wrapped  in  slumber,  and  he  alone 
wide  awake,  in  a  position  where  he  was  himself  in  the 
shadow,  while  his  vision  took  in  the  scene  of  the  entire 
encampment.  He  sat  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  his  rifle  in 
his  hands,  and  his  pistol,  hunting-knife,  and  tomahawk 
in  his  belt,  thoroughly  prepared  for  any  emergency. 

He  had  thus  sat  many  a  night  watching  over  those  in 
his  care,  and  nothing  had  ever  occurred  to  require  any 


DANIEL  BOONS.  22J 

action  on  his  part  ;  but  this  night  was  not  to  pass  aftel 
the  same  manner. 

It  was  nearing  midnight,  and  Rafe,  a  little  chilled  by 
remaining  long  in  the  same  position,  was  thinking  of 
rising  to  stretch  his  limbs,  and  at  the  same  time  replen 
ish  the  fire,  which  they  generally  kept  up  all  through 
the  night,  as  much  for  company,  and  to  ward  off  the 
wild  animals,  as  for  any  purpose  of  warmth. 

He  had  just  formed  this  intention,  when  a  slight  noise, 
like  the  crushing  of  underbrush  by  some  heavy  body  in 
movement,  attracted  his  attention,  and  he  was  at  once 
on  the  alert.  The  noise  came  from  a  point  directly 
facing  him.  His  sleeping  companions  being  more  on 
his  right ;  the  two  ladies  and  Rose  hidden  beneath  an 
impromptu  wigwam,  a  few  paces  back  of  the  fire. 

Rafe  cocked  his  rifle  noiselessly,  and  listened  with  all 
the  attention  possible. 

In  a  few  moments  the  sound  was  repeated,  and  as  this 
time  it  continued,  he  could  readily  perceive  that  it  was 
caused  by  the  steady  movement  of  somebody  or  some 
thing  coming  through  the  woods  in  his  direction ;  his 
position  was  such  that  he  knew  he  could  not  be  possibly 
discovered  by  any  one  emerging  from  the  forest  at  that 
point,  and  he  therefore  remained  still. 

The  noise  grew  louder,  though  it  was  still  faint  enough 
to  show  that  whatever  occasioned  it  was  sufficiently  ir- 
telligent  to  make  it  as  slight  as  possible.  This  fact 
made  him  think  that  it  must  be  occasioned  by  human 
beings,  and  that  impression  was  presently  confirmed  by 
the  distinct  appearance  of  a  tall  dark  figure  moving 


224  THE  LIFE  AND 

slowly  and  carefully ;  and  this  he  saw  in  a  moment  was 
followed  by  another. 

Immediately  thereafter,  both  had  left  the  thick  woods, 
and  the  forms  of  two  men,  dressed  in  the  ordinary 
hunter's  garb,  stood  plainly  out  in  the  moonlight  which 
shone  full  upon  them  ;  they  remained  perfectly  still,  and 
Rafe  saw  one  turn  to  the  other  and  apparently  whisper, 
while  he  pointed  toward  the  fire  beside  which  could  be 
seen  the  recumbent  figures  of  Hardeman  and  Mike, 
who  were  lying  close  together  near  it. 

Rafe  did  not  hesitate  longer,  but  springing  to  his 
feet,  and  with  his  rifle  at  present,  he  stepped  out  in  the 
moonlight,  at  the  same  time  crying  loud  enough  for  the 
new-comers  to  hear,  without  awakening  the  sleepers :  . 

"  Who  is  there  ?     Speak  quick,  or  I  fire." 

The  two  men  started  simultaneously,  and  the  first  one, 
holding  up  both  hands,  answered,  "  Friends."  As  his 
gesture  was  imitated  by  his  companion,  and  both  step 
ped  forward  to  meet  him,  Rafe  lowered  his  rifle  a  little 

/ 
and  started  to  approach  nearer  to  them. 

"  Who  are  you,  and  what  are  you  doing  out  here  ?  " 
"  We  are  out  exploring  the  country,"  observed  the 
one  whom  he  addressed,  "  and  seeing  the  light  of  your 
fire,  and  knowing  that  a  party  of  whites  were  in  the 
woods  about  here  somewhere,  thought  you  might  be  the 
one,  and  we  would  join  you  if  you  had  no  objections." 
"  If  your  intentions  are  peaceful,"  said  Rafe,  "  and  my 
companions  have  no  objections,  I   have  none;  indeed 
we  should  be  rather  glad  to  increase  the  strength  of  oui 
party,  provided  we  could  find  the  right  sort  of  men." 


DANIEL  BOONE.  22$ 

"  Well,  we  can  satisfy  you  about  that,"  said  the  one 
who  had  not  hitherto  spoken,  cind  who  was  the  older  of- 
the  two.  "  We  come  from  Hillsborough  way,  and  if 
you  are  the  ones  we  take  you  for,  I  guess  you  must 
know  some  people  that  know  us." 

The  sound  of  the  conversation,  which  they  had  car 
ried  on  in  a  low  tone,  had  by  this  time  awakened  Har- 
deman,  and  he  arose  to  his  feet  and  joined  the  group 
as  soon  as  he  understood  that  strangers  had  appeared. 

A  few  words  of  explanation  followed.  Hardeman 
being  well  acquainted  in  Hillsborough,  asked  the  new 
arrivals  to  mention  the  names  of  persons  whom  they 
knew,  and  the  answers  given  being  satisfactory  to  him, 
and  the  two  men  seeming  to  be  straightforward  and 
honest  in  their  manner,  their  wish  to  join  the  others 
was  acceded  to. 

Both  these  men  were  well  armed,  and  apparently 
thoroughly  supplied  with  ammunition  and  every  neces 
sary  for  a  prolonged  excursion  through  the  woods. 
Each  of  them  had  a  rifle,  which  they  had  let  drop  from 
their  hands  and  rested  against  their  shoulders,  while 
they  had  lifted  their  arms  to  show  their  friendly  inten 
tions  to  Rafe. 

The  colloquy  being  over,  and  Rafe  and  Hardeman 
apparently  satisfied,  the  two  men  remarked  that,  as  they 
were  tired,  they  would  lie  down  by  the  fire  and  sleep, 
unless  they  were  wanted  to  watch  ;  this  not  being  re 
quired  of  them,  they  proceeded  to  put  their  intentions 
into  force,  and  were  presently,  both  of  them,  sound 
asleep. 


226  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

The  perfect  confidence  signified  by  this  act  did  more 
to  satisfy  Rafe  than  anything  they  had  said. 

The  two  men  had  given  their  names  as  Browneil,  be- 
ing  the  elder,  and  Hunter,  the  younger  person. 

"  They  seem  honest  enough,"  said  Rafe  to  his  com 
panion,  after  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  the  apparent 
slumber  was  genuine. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  but  they  are  the 
ordinary  frontiersmen.  The  people  they  named  are 
respectable  merchants  in  Hillsborough.  To-morrow, 
when  we  see  them  by  daylight,  we  can  judge  better, 
and  anyhow  they  will  bear  watching,  and  will  get  it  for 
some  little  time  yet." 

"  Yes,  decidedly,"  said  Rafe.     "  Though  there  is  no 
reason  whatever  why  any  one  should  care  to  molest  us. 
do  not  mean  to  put  trust  in  any  one  until  I  am  satis 
fied  as  to  his  character." 

Rafe  now  threw  himself  down  for  repose,  while  Harde- 
man  took  his  place  to  keep  watch  until  four  o'clock, 
when  he  in  turn  would  be  relieved  by  the  Indian  guide. 
This,  which  was  the  customary  programme,  was  carried 
out,  and  nothing  further  occurred  out  of  the  common 
during  the  night. 

Shortly  after  sunrise  all  were  stirring,  and  those  who 
had  slept  through  the  incident  of  the  new  arrival,  were 
thoroughly  surprised  on  finding  when  they  awoke  that 
their  company  had  become  enlarged. 

The  two  men  looked  fairly  well  by  daylight,  and  as 
they  at  once  set  themselves  to  work,  doing  whatever 
they  could  lay  their  hands  to  which  would  accommo* 


&AMEL  BOONE. 

date  the  party  they  had  joined  ;  and  as  they  were  re- 
spectful  and  kindly  in  their  manners  toward  the  ladies, 
all  suspicion  that  still  lurked  in  the  minds  of  Raie  and 
Hardeman  gradually  wore  away. 

After  breakfast  everything  was  packed  up,  and 
preparations  for  moving  went  on  rapidly.  Brownell 
and  Hunter  had  been  informed  of  the  objects  of  the 
expedition  :  viz.,  to  meet  Daniel  Boone,  if  practicable, 
and  discover  if  Harry  Calvert  had  already  joined  him, 
or,  in  default  of  that,  to  find  the  latter. 

"  It  doesn't  look  like  an  easy  job  to  find  a  man  in 
this  wilderness,"  said  Brownell,  who  had  been  listening 
.o  the  objects  of  the  expedition  as  given  by  Rafe  ; 
"  but  it  isn't  half  so  hard  as  it  seems.  There  is  Squire 
Boone,  I  know  he  went  out  and  met  his  brother ;  and 
just  before  we  left  he  had  got  back  home  and  started 
out  again  with  more  ammunition.  We  would  have 
gone  with  him,  if  we  had  not  got  up  to  his  place  too 
late  ;  but  we  got  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  the  trail  he  was 
following,  and  I  guess  we  can  help  you  to  go  right  to 
where  Boone  had  set  up  his  cabin." 

"  How  far  do  you  think  it  is  from  here  ?  "  said  Maude, 
who  was  an  attentive  listener. 

"  Well,  I  should  think,  judging  from  the  distance  we 
have  come,  that  it  must  be  mor'n  fifty  miles.  It's  purty 
well  on  to'rds  the  big  river  that  the  Injuns  tell  on,  that 
lies  a  little  north  of  west  from  here.  You  see,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  I  guess  you  have  been  working  a  little  in  the 
wrong  direction." 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  Hardeman. 


228  THE  LFFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

11  Well,  you  kept  along  north  from  the  gap,  running 
alongside  of  the  foot  of  these  mountains,  when  your 
chance  of  striking  your  friend  would  have  been  better 
if  you  had  made  it  more  westerly  after  you  crossed  the 
range." 

Hardeman  looked  at  Rafe,  who  presently  remarked  : 

"  I  expect  you  are  right  about  that ;  you  see,  all  we 
knew  about  Daniel  Boone's  movements  was,  that  he 
was  to  keep  to  the  north-west  after  crossing  the  range, 
and  we  had  the  impression  that  he  crossed  a  great  deal 
further  north  than  we  did,  but  perhaps  we  were  wrong." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  "  you  were  wrong  and  you 
were  not  wrong.  The  first  trip  he  made  out  this  way, 
he  did  cross  where  you  say ;  that  was  about  three  years 
ago  ;  but  then  he  didn't  go  far  west  that  time.  Now, 
he  went  through  where  I  say,  well  south  of  that,  at  an 
easy  pass  he  discovered  or  heard  tell  on,  and  that's  the 
one  we  come  through.  Squire  Boone  told  about  it 
when  he  was  home." 

"  Then  your  advice  would  be,"  said  Rafe,  "  that  we 
should  strike  off  more  to  the  west  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  the  other ;  "  you'll  git  there  quicker 
There  is  a  good-sized  stream  runs  out  here  about  foui 
or  five  miles  south-west  of  this,  and  I  think  it's  a  fork 
of  the  river  I  told  you  about,  and  by  keeping  along  that 
you'll  find  easy  travel,  and  be  nearer  to  Boone's  trail." 

The  advice  seemed  judicious,  and  Rafe,  after  a  little 
consultation  with  the  others,  concluded  to  follow  it. 
By  nine  o'clock  they  had  got  ready  and  made  a  start, 
keeping  more  to  the  west,  as  Brown  ell  had  suggested, 


DANIEL  SOONE.  22$ 

Both  he  and  his  companion  proved  not  only  serviceable 
but  good-natured  and  willing. 

That  day's  journey  passed  without  incident  of  im 
portance,  and  at  dusk  they  encamped  on  the  bank  of 
the  stream,  which  they  had  found  tc  be  just  where 
Brownell  had  indicated. 

He  and  his  partner  took  turns,  each  with  one  of  the 
others,  in  watching  during  the  night ;  and  on  the  follow 
ing  day  they  proceeded,  all  apparently  well  satisfied  with 
each  other  and  confident  of  success  ;  but  on  the  third 
day  after  their  new  companions  had  joined  them,  and 
while  they  were  engaged  in  taking  their  mid-day  meal, 
an  incident  occurred  which  reawakened  the  suspicions 
that  had  perplexed  Rafe's  mind  when  these  two  first 
joined  them. 

This  incident  was  a  curious  one  to  happen  under 
such  circumstances,  and  it  occurred  through  the  acci 
dental  intervention  of  the  girl  Rose. 

As  they  were  all  about  beginning  their  meal,  Brown- 
ell  threw  the  hunter's  knapsack,  or  satchel,  which  he 
wore  strapped  over  his  shoulders,  on  the  ground  under 
a  tree,  a  little  way  from  where  he  sat  down  to  eat. 

As  the  satchel  touched  the  ground  a  small  piece  of 
paper  fell  out  of  it,  and  was  carried  by  the  wind  some 
distance  away  toward  the  stream.  Rose  chanced  to 
notice  it,  and  thinking  it  might  be  something  of  im 
portance,  remembering  also  what  a  disturbance  a  piece 
of  paper  had  occasioned  in  her  own  life,  she  ran  swiftly 
after  it. 

The  paper  lodged  in  a  bush  right  at  the  edge  of  the 


230       LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  DANIEL  BOONE. 

water  where  Rafe  happened  to  have  gone  to  wash  hia 
hands ;  and  as  the  girl  hurried  dpwn  the  bank  and 
seized  it,  he  observed  her  action,  which  was  entirely 
hidden  from  the  party  above. 

"  What  have  you  got  there,  Rose  ?  "  he  said,  and  he 
extended  his  hand  to  receive  it. 

The  girl  gave  it  to  him,  saying  as  she  did  so : 

"  It  fell  out  of  dat  Massa  Brownell's  bag,  an'  I  seed 
the  wind  kotch  it  and  take  it  off,  an'  I  run  down  the 
bank  to  git  it  for  him." 

Rafe  hardly  heard  her  words,  for,  looking  mechani 
cally  at  the  paper,  he  was  struck  at  seeing  his  own 
name  written  upon  it. 

It  was  a  scrap,  apparently  torn  from  a  note-book,  and 
upon  it,  in  a  clear,  bold,  clerical  hand,  were  written  the 
following  words,  as  though  it  were  a  memorandum  has 
tily  inscribed,  and  handed  to  a  person  to  remind  him  of 
something : 

"  Rafe  Slaughter  (i) ;  Harry  Calvert  (2).    Seven  years." 

For  a  moment  Rafe  was  stunned  on  seeing  this  ap 
parently  meaningless  writing ;  recovering  himself,  and 
observing  that  Rose  still  stood  watching  him  curiously, 
he  said : 

"  It's  all  right,  Rose ;  you  needn't  say  anything  about 
it ;  it  belongs  to  me,  and  must  have  got  into  his  bag 
when  we  were  packing  to  start." 

And  while  Rose  ran  lightly  up  the  hill,  Rafe  walked 
slowly  after  her,  pondering  the  meaning  of  the  extraor. 
dinary  revelation  which  had  thus  seemingly  been  cast 
by  the  winds  into  his  possession, 


CHAPTER   XV. 

Which  kgnifies  that  amateur  exploring  is  not  without  its  dangers  as  well  a*  ta 
delights,  an«i  introduces  the  Reader  to  the  noble  red  man,  as  he  appeared 
when  oc  the  war-path  in  the  year  of  grace  1771. 

AFTER  carefully  reviewing  the  subject,  and  for  reasons 
which  it  is  not  at  present  necessary  to  state  to  the  read 
er,  Rafe  concluded  to  keep  his  new  discovery  to  him 
self. 

It  was  not  that  he  distrusted  either  Hardeman  or  any 
of  his  other  companions ;  but  on  account  of  the  com 
bination  of  circumstances  in  which  he  was  interested 
and  the  carrying  out  of  which  might  have  been  inter 
fered  with  by  pursuing  a  different  course. 

The  incident,  however,  assumed  considerable  promi 
nence  in  his  mind,  and  the  more  he  reflected  upon  it, 
the  less  was  he  able  to  give  any  interpretation  which 
should  be  satisfactory  to  himself. 

He  was  so  little  known  in  the  Colonies,  and  seem 
ingly  of  so  little  importance,  that  he  could  not  under- 
stand  why  any  one  should  take  the  trouble  to  attract 
attention  to  him. 

The  mere  fact  of  his  name  being  mentioned  in  con 
nection  with  that  of  Harry  Calvert,  considering  in  whose 
hands  the  paper  had  been  found,  was  not  in  itself  re- 
in»irkablc  Tlji.s  might  have  been  done  in  order  to  as- 


232  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

sist  the  backwoodsmen  in  finding  his  party.  But  this 
view  of  the  matter  was  not  sufficient  to  explain  it, 
when  the  additional  words  "seven  years"  were  taken 
into  consideration. 

But  circumstances  now  occurred  which,  for  the  time 
being,  drove  further  reflection  on  these  incidents  from 
Rafe's  mind. 

That  night  the  party  camped  on  the  bank  of  the 
stream  that  they  had  been  following,  and  which  was  in 
reality  a  fork  of  what  is  now  known  as  the  Kentucky 
River. 

As  they  were  getting  deeper  into  the  wilderness, 
and  approaching  nearer  to  the  hunting-grounds  of  the 
Indians,  Brownell  advised  that  they  should  extinguish 
their  fire  at  night ;  which  was  accordingly  done,  on  the 
occasion  of  which  we  are  now  speaking. 

It  happened  that  the  turn  to  assume  the  first  watch 
came  to  Haideman,  and  Rafe,  being  tired  more  than 
usual,  had  thrown  himself  down  early,  to  take  his  needed 
repose. 

It  was  a  pleasant  night,  and  the  moon  was  shining 
brightly,  though  occasionally  obscured  by  masses  of 
white  fleecy  clouds  that  drifted  past  its  face. 

It  was  about  two  hours  before  midnight,  and  all  was 
•till  in  the  camp  and  about  it,  save  the  sound  of  the 
heavy  breathing  of  the  sleepers,  and  the  customary 
noises  of  the  frogs  and  tree-toads. 

Hardeman  was  not  as  close  a  watcher  as  Rafe,  and 
he  also  chanced  to  be  more  than  usually  fatigued  aftef 
the  journey  of  the  day,  which  had  been  a  long  one, 


DANIEL  BOONE.  233 

He  sat  leaning  against  a  tree,  with  his  rifle  across  his 
lap.  At  length  the  stillness  and  his  own  feelings,  com 
bined,  overcame  him  with  drowsiness  ;  and,  though  he 
occasionally  recovered  himself,  this  became  too  strong 
for  his  ability  to  resist  it,  and  he  slept  profoundly. 

A  few  moments  after  this  had  occurred,  a  quick  ear 
might  have  detected  a  movement  in  the  woods  ;  and 
presently,  and  as  it  would  have  seemed  to  an  observer, 
almost  by  magic,  so  suddenly  did  it  occur,  the  empty 
space  about  the  dead  embers  of  the  fire  was  occupied 
by  as  many  as  seven  or  eight  intruders. 

They  were  Indians ;  strong,  stalwart  men,  in  the 
prime  of  life,  dressed  after  the  Indian  fashion,  in  buck 
skin  hunting-shirts  and  breeches,  with  moccasins  on 
their  feet,  ornamented  as  to  the  most  of  their  apparel 
with  beads  and  wampum,  and  with  feathers  in  the  fil 
lets  which  bound  their  heads,  and,  in  some  instances, 
blankets  thrown  across  their  shoulders. 

Some  of  these  men  carried  rifles,  others  bows  and 
arrows ;  and  all  of  them  were  armed  with  the  fearful 
tomahawk. 

By  some  fortunate  chance,  the  accommodations  foi 
the  sleeping  of  the  female  portion  of  Rafe's  party  had 
been  placed,  on  account  of  the  position  being  eligible, 
at  a  few  rods  distance  from  where  the  fire  had  been 
built,  and  where  they  were  hidden  by  a  thin  clump  of 
trees ;  so  that  the  savages  entering  upon  the  scene 
from  the  opposite  direction,  saw  no  one  but  the  sleeping 
figures  of  the  men,  as  they  lay  about  the  fire  in  the  little 
open  space  which  had  been  selected  for  the  camp. 


234  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

For  a  moment  the  Indians  stood  quiet  where  they 
were,  and  gazed  upon  the  sleepers.  Then  they  conferred 
hurriedly  together,  and  speedily  discerning  the  figure 
of  Hardeman  in  his  position  as  guard,  and  observing 
that  he  was  the  only  one  whose  arms  were  likely  to  be 
of  instant  service,  three  of  their  number  moved  noise 
lessly  to  his  side,  as  he  sat  in  deep  slumber  leaning 
against  a  tree. 

His  rifle  had  dropped  from  his  hands,  and  it  was  the 
work  of  an  instant  to  remove  that  from  where  it  lay 
across  his  lap. 

In  the  meantime  the  others  of  the  party  had  sepa 
rated,  and  at  an  apparently  concerted  signal,  every  one 
af  the  sleepers  found  himself  suddenly  awakened,  and 
.n  the  grasp  of  one  of  the  savages.  There  was  a  mo 
mentary  struggle,  confused  and  interrupted  by  the  loud 
cries  of  the  suddenly-attacked  white  men,  but  the  cir 
cumstances  of  the  situation  were  too  much  against 
them  for  successful  resistance,  and  in  a  very  few  mo 
ments  all  were  prisoners,  safely  bound  with  thongs, 
their  hands  being  tied  behind  them. 

The  clouds  had  now  dispersed  from  the  heavens,  and 
the  moon  shone  out  brightly,  disclosing  to  the  captors 
the  faces  and  forms  of  each  of  themselves,  as  well  as 
those  of  the  savages. 

Looking  about  from  one  to  another,  Hardeman  was 
the  first  to  miss  one  of  their  number.  Turning  his 
head  to  Mike,  who  chanced  to  be  next  to  him,  he  whis 
pered  :  "  Where  is  Rafe  Slaughter  ?  I  don't  see  him 
here," 


DANIEL  BOONE.  235 

The  other  looked  about  from  one  to  another,  and 
then  said  :  "  I  don't  see  him  meself,  he  was  lyin'  right 
beyant  there,"  nodding  his  head  in  the  direction  he 
signified,  "  when  I  went  to  sleep.  Begorra,  he  is  as 
cunning  as  a  fox,  and  it  might  happen  that  he  got 
away  with  himself." 

Inquiries  made  among  the  others  soon  showed  that, 
whatever  might  have  become  of  Rafe  Slaughter,  he  was 
certainly  not  one  of  the  prisoners. 

The  Indians  having  their  captives  safely  tied,  were 
now  collected  together,  evidently  listening  to  one  ot 
their  number,  who  appeared  to  be  in  authority. 

There  were  eight  of  them  in  all,  and  now,  as  they 
Stood,  with  their  faces  plainly  disclosed,  in  the  moon- 
light,  Brownell  observed  to  Hardeman  : 

"  They  are  in  their  war-paint,  and  must  be  a  small 
party,  from  a  larger  number,  out  on  the  war-path." 

A  moment's  inspection,  to  one  familiar  with  savage 
customs,  would  have  shown  that  this  judgment  con 
cerning  the  nature  of  their  expedition  was  a  correct 
one.  Their  faces,  streaked  with  red  and  yellow 
ochre,  bore  signs  well  known  to  those  in  the  habit 
of  meeting  with  them  that  they  were  on  the  war 
path. 

The  discussion  among  them  was  finally  concluded, 
and  apparently  by  some  order  from  the  chief,  four  of 
the  men  dispersed  in  different  directions,  evidently  in 
search  of  something. 

"  They  know,  there  are  women  in  the  party,"  whis 
pered  Hardeman  to  Hunt.-r  "and  have  gone  to  look 


236  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  Of 

for  them  ;  of  course  they  can't  fail  to  find  them.  God 
help  the  poor  girls  !" 

Just  then  there  was  a  loud  cry,  and  two  of  the  In 
dians  returned  from  behind  the  clump  of  trees  where 
Maude,  Mademoiselle,  and  Rose  had  been  placed,  and 
joined  the  others.  By  their  gesticulations  and  eager 
manner,  they  showed  that  something  unexpected  had 
occurred. 

"  Can  it  be  possible  that  they  have  escaped  ? "  said 
Hardeman. 

"  Faix !  I'll  go  bail,  that  Mr.  Rafe  has  heard  them 
black  divils,  with  their  paint  and  feathers,  and  has  gone 
off  and  given  warnin'  to  the  young  Missis." 

"  I  guess  the  Irishman  is  right,"  said  Brownell,  "  but 
I  don't  see  how  they  could  possibly  get  far  without  be 
ing  caught." 

Mike's  idea  was  the  correct  one. 

As  we  said  in  the  beginning  of  the  description  of  this 
attack,  a  quick  ear  might  have  heard  its  preliminary 
movement.  Precisely  such  a  quick  ear  was  listening  ; 
for  Rafe,  however  tired  he  might  be,  was  so  impressed 
with  the  importance  of  his  charge,  that,  as  has  been 
already  said,  no  movement  or  sound,  not  natural  to  the 
situation,  could  possibly  escape  him. 

He  had  heard  the  first  movement  in  the  woods,  but 
this  had  been  followed  so  quickly  by  the  appearance  of 
the  Indians,  that  he  had  only  time  to  exercise  his  re 
markable  agility  by  dexterously  rolling  out  of  his  posi> 
tion  on  the  ground,  into  the  shade  of  the  trees,  where 
be  was  fortunately  hidden  by  a  knoll. 


DAXIRL  ROONE.  237 

From  this  point,  he  crawled  on  his  hands  and  knees, 
with  an  absence  of  noise  which  would  have  done  honot 
to  any  Indian  of  them  all,  and  so  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  place  where  the  women  lay  sleeping 

It  took  him  but  an  instant  to  awaken  Maude  and 
Mademoiselle,  while  Rose,  who  might  have  otherwise 
made  a  disturbance,  happened  to  awaken  herself. 

They  all  kept  their  wits  about  them  ;  and  the  nature 
of  the  position  of  things  being  explained  to  them  in  a 
few  whispered  words,  they  followed  Rafe  down  the  bank 
toward  the  river. 

The  stream  at  this  point  was  narrow  and  shallow, 
and  Rafe's  mind  was  made  up  in  an  instant,  as  to  the 
best  course  to  pursue.  He  at  once  took  his  party  into 
the  water,  which  was  not  more  than  a  foot  deep  and 
about  twenty  yards  wide;  and  carefully  avoiding  splash 
ing,  succeeded  in  getting  them  safely  across,  and  into 
the  woods  on  the  other  side. 

Fortunately,  when  he  had  made  his  escape,  he  had 
been  wise  enough,  and  dexterous  enough,  to  seize  his 
rifle,  which  was  near  him,  and  carry  it  with  him.  His 
other  arms  were  still  in  his  belt,  as  was  his  custom  in 
sleeping,  that  he  might  be  ready  when  called  to  take 
his  share  in  the  watch. 

Precisely  what  he  anticipated,  in  adopting  the  course 
he  had  pursued,  occurred. 

The  chief,  on  learning  of  the  escape  of  the  women, 
sent  out  five  of  his  party  to  search  the  bank  of  the 
river  and  the  neighboring  woods,  and  endeavor  to  find 
their  trail.  Rafe  had  expected  this,  however,  and  with 


238  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

a  shrewdness  which  did  him  credit,  had  made  the  women 
step  on  stones  for  a  considerable  distance  before  enter 
ing  the  water,  while  he  had  himself  made  open  tracks 
into  the  woods  in  an  opposite  direction. 

This  trail  was  easily  found,  in  the  moonlight,  by  the 
Indians,  but  was  of  course  speedily  lost  again.;  and 
after  hunting  for  an  hour  in  every  direction,  they  were 
obliged  to  return,  and  report  their  ill-success. 

The  immediate  result  of  this  was  to  anger  the  chief 
greatly,  and  he  showed  his  disgust  and  annoyance  by 
his  actions  and  gestures. 

From  this  moment  the  white  prisoners  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  others  had  escaped,  and  at  once  it 
was  agreed  upon  among  themselves,  that  they  would 
say  nothing  of  Rafe,  so  that  it  should  not  be  known 
that  there  was  a  man  absent  from  the  party. 

As  they  expected,  the  chief  presently  came  forward, 
and  directing  his  looks  toward  Hardeman,  evidently 
ordered  one  of  the  other  Indians  to  lift  him  from  the 
ground,  from  which  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  rise  on 
account  of  his  arms  being  bound.  This  was  done,  and 
the  white  man  and  Indian  stood  facing  each  other. 

"White  squaw  no  here,"  said  the  chief,  who  had 
picked  up  a  little  English,  doubtless  from  the  traders. 

"  Where  go  to." — "  No  got  white  man," — "  Lost  in 
woods.  " — "  No  eat, — white  squaw  die." — "  You  help 
find  white  squaw,  Injin  no  hurt, — no  help  find, — Injin 
take  white  man, — shoot."  As  the  chief  then  made  a  sign 
about  his  head  with  his  forefinger  signifying  scalping, 
Hardeman  was  not  at  a  loss  to  know  what  he  meant 


to  AN  TEL  BOON& 

He  had,  however,  determined  not  to  disclose!  the  act 
ual  situation  of  his  friends,  and  he  accordingly  set  him- 
self  to  answer  the  chief  in  the  best  way  to  avoid  this. 
A  sudden  thought  occurred  to  him  and  he  said : 

"  White  squaw  gone  away  in  canoe,  down  the  river, 
she  go  find  her  brother,  and  friends.  Not  come  back.' 

The  chief  understood  him  and  looked  at  him  sternly 
for  a  moment,  then  he  said,  shaking  his  head  : 

"  White  man  lie — no  good — white  squaw  got  no 
canoe — Injin  find  white  squaw  when  the  sun  shine." 
He  turned  on  his  heel,  and  Hardeman,  taking  the 
movement  to  signify  that  the  interview  was  over,  seat 
ed  himself  on  the  ground  again. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  night  the  Indians  slept, 
leaving  two  of  their  number  to  watch  the  prisoners, 
who  also  devoted  themselves  to  taking  the  rest  which 
had  been  thus  unexpectedly  interrupted ;  they  soon 
slept  despite  the  alarming  character  of  their  situation, 
and  their  ignorance  of  what  might  be  their  fate  on  the 
morrow. 

When  they  awoke  the  sun  was  up,  and  all  but  three 
of  the  Indians  were  absent  ;  these  were  calmly  inspect 
ing  the  contents  of  the  travelers'  knapsacks  and  bags, 
and  commenting  upon  the  various  prizes  which  these 
disclosed. 

After  having  satisfied  themselves  for  the  time  being 
with  this  amusement,  they  proceeded  to  get  breakfast 
for  themselves  ;  and  while  they  were  engaged  in  this 
duty,  the  chief  with  the  other  savages  returned,  evi 
dently  from  an  unsuccessful  search  for  the  runaways. 


LIF£  AND  TIMES  Of 

As  the  arms  of  the  whites  had  been  gathered  togethef, 
and  were  in  possession  of  the  Indians,  the  latter  expe 
rienced  apparently  no  fear  or  doubt  as  to  the  safety  ol 
their  captives,  and  after  a  time  permitted  Brownell,  as 
sisted  by  Mike,  to  set  about  getting  something  to  eat 
for  their  companions  ;  untying  them  for  that  purpose, 
but  closely  following  and  watching  them  in  the  mean 
time. 

The  meal  was  prepared,  and  eaten  by  the  captives 
with  such  equanimity  as  was  possible  under  the  circum 
stances. 

When  it  was  concluded  and  the  articles  they  had 
used  packed  up  and  restored  to  their  places  in  the  com 
pact  luggage  of  the  party,  the  Indians  signified  that 
they  were  to  take  up  their  line  of  march. 

The  sentiments  of  Thomas  Hardeman  when  he  dis 
covered  that  they  were  actually  going  away,  leaving 
Rafe  and  the  others  behind,  it  would  be  difficult  to 
sufficiently  appreciate. 

While  he  was  happy  that  these  had  escaped  their 
own  present  and  possible  future  fate,  the  sense  of  lone 
liness  which  came  over  the  young  man  was  almost  too 
much  for  him  to  bear. 

Of  course  there  could  be  no  special  sympathy  be- 
tween  himself  and  the  two  who  had  so  lately  joined 
their  party.  As  to  Mike,  Hardeman  felt  that  he  also 
would  grieve  greatly  at  the  separation  from  his  young 
mistress  and  her  companions  which  now  promised  to  be 
perpetual. 

Indeed  a  word  spoken  to  Mike  in  regard  to  thia. 


D AX  I  EL  BOONE.  241 

brought  the  warm-hearted  Irishman's  feelings  to  the 
surface,  and  at  once  tears  came  into  his  eyes.  lie 
wrung  his  hands  when  Hardeman  told  him  they  were 
about  to  be  carried  into  the  woods  by  their  captcis. 

"  Oh !  Eegorra !  "  he  cried,  "  what  will  become  of  the 
young  mistress,  and  '  Frenchy'  and  the  Nager.  Oh 
blessed  Virgin,  that  ever  I  should  live  to  come  to  this. 
Shure,  Mr.  Hardeman,  can't  we  do  somethin'?  Bedad, 
there  is  only  eight  of  them,  and  there  is  five  of  us ;  an' 
if  four  white  men  and  a  dacent  Injin  isn't  equal  to  eight 
of  them  painted  divils,  what  is  the  good  of  us,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  That  is  all  very  fine,  Mike,"  rejoined  the  other,  "  but 
you  must  remember  that  these  men  are  well  armed 
not  only  with  their  own  weapons,  but  with  ours." 

"  May  the  divil  get  the  best  of  them  in  the  long  run. 
Shure  the  thaves  of  the  world  that  they  are,  that  would 
stale  a  white  man's  weapons,  and  lave  him  at  a  disad 
vantage  !  Arrah  !  you  black-hearted  varmints,"  he  con 
tinued,  shaking  his  fist  at  the  group  of  Indians,  "  give 
me  a  shillalah  and  ten  feet  of  clear  ground,  an'  I  would 
make  your  brains  rattle  round  in  your  heads  like  peas  / 
in  a  pepper-box."  \ 

The  Indians  who  were  thus  apostrophized,  saw  very 
clearly  that  Mike  had  worked  himself  into  a  passion, 
and  could  easily  imagine  the  occasion  of  it.  His  wild 
gestures  of  anger  amused  them,  and  as  nearly  as  it  ia 
possible  for  a  North  American  Indian  to  laugh,  the} 
laughed. 

But  the  chief  now  signified  the  necessity  for  haste, 
and  the  white  prisoners  being  forced  to  load  themselves 
xx 


242  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

with  their  own  baggage,  and  that  of  the  Indians  as  well, 
excepting  the  arms,  the  start  was  made,  the  captives 
being  placed  in  the  middle,  with  Indians  in  front  and 
behind. 

They  were  hurried  rapidly  through  the  forest  in  the 
same  direction  that  their  party  had  hitherto  followed  ; 
that  is,  north-westward,  along  the  bank  of  the  stream. 

Excepting  a  short  pause  at  mid-day  to  take  necessarj 
food,  the  march  was  continued  with  speed  until  sunset. 
From  the  gestures  of  the  chief,  Brownell,  who  best  un 
derstood  them,  learned  that  their  immediate  idea  was 
to  regain  a  large  body  of  their  tribe  which  had  gone  on 
before  them,  and  which  they  hoped  to  overtake  on  the 
following  day. 

Foot-sore  and  miserable,  the  captives,  when  night" 
came,  and  preparations  for  camp  were  made,  after  hur 
riedly  eating  the  food  that  was  given  to  them,  laid  down 
wherever  they  were  located  ;  and  as  the  Indians  them- 
selves  seemed  not  less  fatigued,  the  camp  was  soon 
wrapped  in  silence. 

Two  of  the  savages  watched  sitting  by  the  fire,  which 
they  kept  going,  each  having  his  loaded  rifle  on  his 
arm. 

Immediately  about  these  were  the  other  Indians, 
whose  guns  and  bows  and  arrows  had  been  piled  up  in 
a  heap  under  a  tree  behind  them.  The  white  prisoners, 
with  their  arms  again  tied  behind  them,  were  in  one 
group  together,  perhaps  a  dozen  feet  away  from  the 
others. 

So  passed  the  early  portion  of  the  night. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  243 

By  midnight  one  of  the  Indian  watchers  was  dozing ; 
but  the  other,  a  young  and  active  man,  was  on  the  alert, 
sitting  bolt  upright,  both  hands  on  his  rifle,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  fire,  and  his  ears  keen  and  watchful  to  hear 
any  sound  that  might  signify  danger. 

But,  though  keen  his  vision  and  sharp  his  ear,  the 
Indian  watcher  was  now  to  be  matched  with  an  intelli 
gence  and  acuteness  far  transcending  his  own. 

It  was  a  little  past  midnight,  and  the  moon  had  nearly 

,gonc  down,  leaving  the  camp,  save  for  the  still  blazing 

fire,  in  shadow,  when  a  dark,  lithe  figure  moved  among 

the   trees  with  a   silence   and   celerity  which   seemed 

almost  impossible. 

The  burning  logs  were  between  this  figure  and  the 
Indian  who  watched. 

Reaching  the  group  of  sleeping  white  men,  a  hana 
was  stretched  out,  and  a  sharp,  bright  knife  gleamed  in 
the  fire-light  ;  and  quickly  the  thongs  which  bound  the 
hands  of  the  sleepers  were  cut,  and  their  arms  were  free. 
Only  one  awakened  during  this  procedure,  and  that  was 
Brov,  nell,  who  had  experience  enough  as  a  backwoods 
man  not  to  make  any  sound. 

He  moved  his  head,  to  signify  that  he  was  awake, 
and  turning  over,  he  saw  the  stern  white  face  of  Rafe 
Slaughter,  who,  with  one  finger  on  his  lip,  pointed  with 
his  other  hand  toward  the  spot  where  the  arms  of  the 
sleeping  Indians  were  placed  ;  then  he  whispered  in  the 
frontiersman's  ear  the  single  word,  "  Wait !  " 

The  figure  glided  away  as  silently  as  it  had  appeared. 

Brownell  knew  his  companion  to  be  as  wise  in  wood- 


244  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  0* 

craft  as  himself ;  and  without  hesitation  or  doubt  as  to 
the  result,  placed  his  hand  heavily  on  his  shoulder, 
The  action  awakened  the  other,  who  turned  his  face; 
and  seeing  his  companion  with  his  hands  untied,  recog 
nized  that  a  change  in  their  situation  was  impending, 
Rnd  merely  moved  his  own  arms  to  discover  their  con 
dition.  Satisfied  on  recognizing  his  freedom,  he  re 
mained  quietly  waiting  what  should  ensue. 

What  happened  next  was  sufficiently  startling. 

Suddenly  a  small  dark  object  flew  through  the  air  and 
fell  in  the  midst  of  the  burning  logs. 

The  Indian,  surprised,  leaped  to  his  feet,  but  not  in 
lime  to  insure  even  his  own  safety  from  what  followed. 

There  was  a  terrific  explosion,  two  or  three  dark  fig- 
ures  could  be  seen  flung  upward,  one  of  them  at  least 
falling  back  into  the  midst  of  the  scattered  and  blazing 
logs,  while  wild  yells  of  terror  and  dismay  rang  upon 
the  night. 

With  the  cunning  of  his  craft,  Brownell  had  dis 
cerned  the  nature  of  the  extraordinary  occurrence,  and 
had  succeeded,  not  only  in  himself  and  his  immediate 
companion  rolling  out  of  the  way,  but  had  drawn  Harde- 
man  and  Mike  with  him,  while  Indian  John  followed. 
They  were  all  uninjured,  save  by  a  few  falling  embers. 

To  spring  to  his  feet,  rush  through  the  blinding 
smoke  to  the  tree  where  the  arms  were  piled,  was  with 
Brcwnell  the  work  of  an  instant  In  this  movement  he 
was  instinctively  followed  by  the  others. 

Now,  as  the  smoke  cleared,  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle 
rang  out  upon  the  air,  and  the  chief,  who  had  gained 


DANIEL  BOONE.  24$ 

his  feet,  stunned  by  the  explosion,  but  otherwise  unin 
jured,  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell  upon  his  face. 

The  other  rifles  were  now  in  the  hands  of  those  who 
knew  well  how  to  wield  them.  Two  more  shots  brought 
two  of  the  savages  to  the  ground.  Of  the  remaining 
ones  of  the  party,  two  were  so  badly  injured  by  the 
burning  logs  that  they  were  incapable  of  resistance. 
Two  others  sought  safety  in  flight ,  but  one  of  these 
being  pursued  by  Mike,  with  his  rifle  clubbed  in  his 
hands,  fell  presently,  stunned  by  a  fearful  blow  from  that 
weapon.  The  other,  though  followed  by  a  shot  from 
one  of  the  Indians'  rifles,  which  Hardeman  had  picked 
up  after  discharging  his  own,  succeeded  in  escaping. 

The  whole  transaction  had  not  lasted  over  five  min 
utes,  and  now  the  captives  of  so  short  a  time  before, 
stood  wonder-stricken  at  their  own  changed  position, 
gazing  upon  their  deliverer. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Rafe,"  exclaimed  Hardeman,  "  how 
did  you  get  here,  and  what  magic  have  you  used  to 
create  such  a  revolution  ?  " 

Rafe  grasped  the  hand  that  was  extended  toward 
him  by  his  friend,  and  shook  it  warmly. 

"  You  might  be  sure,"  he  said,  "  I  would  not  let  you 
be  carried  away,  if  there  was  a  chance  of  saving  you. 
I  left  the  girls  safe  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream,  and 
watched  every  movement  that  was  made  among  you, 
and  followed  your  trail  to  this  point." 

"  But  what  means  did  you  employ  to  produce  such 
a  terrific  explosion  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  was  the  result  of  a  happy  accident. 


246  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  Yesterday  evening  I  was  filling  my  powder-flask, 
and  I  accidentally  put  the  canister,  containing  more 
than  a  pound  of  powder,  into  my  pocket,  where  it  had 
remained. 

"  The  idea  occurred  to  me  as  I  lay  in  the  bushes  over 
there  during  the  early  part  of  the  night,  and  chanced 
to  feel  the  canister  where  it  was  —  I  thought  I  might 
produce  a  little  excitement  by  its  use,  and  after  cutting 
the  thongs  that  tied  you  all,  I  took  off  the  cover  of  the 
canister  and  tossed  the  whole  thing  into  the  fire. 

"  The  result,  I  will  admit,  went  beyond  my  expecta 
tions." 

"  Well,"  said  Mike,  who  had  been  an  earnest  listener 
to  this  account,  "  it  takes  a  divil  to  catch  a  divil ;  and, 
bedad,  I  always  thought  there  was  some  of  the  black 
art  in  you,  Mr.  Rafe — saving  your  prisence — and,  be- 
gorra,  now  I  knows  it." 

.  Rafe   laughed,   and    slapped   the   Irishman    on   the 
shoulder,  as  he  said  : 

"  Well,  Mike,  whether  it  was  the  black  art  or  not,  I 
was  well  seconded  by  all  of  you,  and  you  in  particular 
did  good  work  in  bringing  down  that  red  rascal  with 
the  butt  of  your  gun." 

There  was  no  longer  any  desire  for  sleep  experienced 
by  any  of  the  party  ;  and  the  suggestion  from  Rafe 
that  they  should  immediately  retrace  their  steps  and 
rejoin  the  women,  was  willingly  acceded  to  by  the 
others. 

"  What  will  you  do  with  these  wounded  Indians  ? 
said  Hardeman. 


DANIEL  BOONS,  24; 

"Let  them  lay  there,'  observed  Brownell :  "the 
other  fellow  will  come  back  as  soon  as  he  finds  we  arc 
gone,  and  they  will  be  taken  care  of." 

As  the  guide  confirmed  this  opinion,  the  articles  be 
longing  to  them,  including  the  arms  of  the  Indians  and 
their  ammunition,  were  speedily  gathered  together;  and 
in  a  very  few  moments  the  whole  party  started  on  thtir 
return  to  the  point  where  Maude  and  her  companions 
had  been  left. 

They  traveled  all  night,  and  snatching  a  hasty  mouth 
ful  in  the  morning,  reached  the  scene  of  their  former 
camp  by  the  following  noon. 

They  then  forded  the  river,  and,  guided  by  Rafe, 
soon  came  up  with  the  women,  who  had  remained 
where  he  had  placed  them,  carefully  secluded  in  the 
midst  of  a  pathless  grove. 

As  they  were  little  likely  to  be  molested  immedi 
ately,  it  was  determined  to  remain  where  they  were  for 
that  day  and  the  following  night,  while  they  should 
form  their  plans  as  to  their  future  movements. 

Maude  and  Mademoiselle  were,  as  might  be  imag 
ined,  delighted  at  the  return  of  Rafe,  and  the  knowl 
edge  of  his  complete  success  in  his  dangerous  and  du 
bious  attempt  to  rescue  his  captive  companions. 

The  story  of  the  midnight  attack  was  listened  to  by 
them  with  eager  ears,  and  great  was  the  praise  which 
was  lavished  on  the  secretary  for  the  skill  and  cunning 
as  well  as  the  audacity  of  his  plan,  and  its  mode  of  exe 
cution. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Wherein  the  Reader  is  present  at  an  interview  between  two  important  perauo 
ages,  and  witnesses  a  very  impresHve  and  eventful  and  conclusive  scene  ?• 
the  life  of  one  of  them. 

ON  one  of  those  autumnal  days,  certain  of  whose 
events  we  have  been  chronicling,  Stephen  Roberts  sat 
in  his  dingy  old  office  in  the  little  house  on  the  main 
street  of  Hillsborough  writing  at  his  desk. 

The  time  which  had  elapsed  since  we  last  presented 
him  to  the  reader,  had  not  seemingly  told  hardly  with 
him  ;  although  his  iron-gray  hair  had  turned  a  shade 
paler,  and  there  might,  perchance,  have  been  a  few 
more  seams  and  lines  in  his  pallid  and  impassive  coun 
tenance. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon,  and  although  he  was  appar 
ently  engaged  in  writing,  an  observer  would  have  con 
cluded  from  his  manner  that  his  occupation  did  not 
fully  engross  his  mind  ;  frequently  he  paused  in  his 
employment,  not  as  one  who  reflects,  observing  what 
he  is  doing,  but  rather  like  a  man  whose  mind  is  busy 
upon  affairs  foreign  to  his  task. 

There  was  the  noise  of  a  horse  coming  rapidly  down 
the  street,  and  which  ceased  in  front  of  Stephen  Rob 
erts'  door,  and  some  one  descended  from  the  steed,  it" 
0*48) 


DANIEL  &OONE.  249 

bridle  being  taken  by  a  negro  boy  vho  chanced  to  be 
at  hand. 

Then  there  was  a  sharp  rap  at  the  outer  door,  and 
then  that  of  Stephen  Roberts'  office  was  opened  brisk 
ly,  to  admit  the  burly  and  dignified  form  of  Colonel 
Richard  Anderson,  Judge  of  the  Superior  Court  of  the 
province  of  North  Carolina. 

As  Roberts  looked  up  to  acquaint  himself  ivith  the 
personality  of  his  visitor,  a  marked  change  c.u.ne  over 
his  face. 

Accustomed  as  that  was  to  concealing  the  impres 
sions  of  the  mind  which  worked  behind  it,  it  was  as 
though  a  curtain  had  been  let  fall  over  the  intelligence 
which  gleamed  from  the  deep-sunken  eyes  of  the  Reg 
ulator,  and  rendered  still  more  expressionless  the  mask 
which  he  wore. 

Stephen  Roberts  did  not,  however,  forget  the  cus 
tomary  courtesy  of  his  demeanor ;  rising  to  his  feet, 
and  bowing  profoundly  before  the  majesty  of  that  pro 
fession  by  which  he  purported  to  gain  his  living,  he 
invited  Judge  Anderson  to  take  a  chair,  and  the  latter 
having  complied  with  the  invitation,  he  resumed  his 
own. 

As  the  Judge  had  made  no  further  remark  than  the 
usual  formality  of  salutation,  Roberts,  after  waiting  a 
moment,  said  :  "  You  are  an  unexpected  visitor,  Judge  ; 
I  have  not  seen  you  for  a  long  time,  and  I  think  nevei 
before  in  my  office.  May  I  ask  what  business  I  can  d  ; 
for  you,  or  in  what  way  I  can  ser  e  you  ?" 

The  Judge,  who  was  usually  accustomed  to  display 
Ii* 


tHE  LlFh  AMD  TlMhS  OF 

rather  a  ganial  and  even  a  jovial  manner  in  his  com. 
munion  with  his  fellows,  now  looked  stern  and  preoc 
cupied,  and  as  though  his  mind  was  impressed  with 
weighty  and  not  altogether  agreeable  matters.  "  No, 
Roberts,"  he  said,  "  you  never  saw  me  in  your  office 
before,  and  I  doubt  if  you  may  not  possibly  regret  the 
necessity  which  brings  me  here  at  present." 

The  other  made  no  answer  except  a  bow.  Imper 
turbable  and  implacable,  it  was  plain  that  if  this  was  to 
be  a  combat  of  wits  and  of  wisdom,  he  would  be  found 
no  mean  antagonist. 

"  Stephen  Roberts,"  began  the  Judge,  after  another 
slight  pause,  "  for  some  reason,  unknown  to  me,  you 
have  always  hated  me.  I  believe  this  has  been  under 
a  misunderstanding,  both  of  my  nature  and  my  ac 
tions;  but  whatever  course  I  might  once  have  pursued, 
had  I  deemed  it  fitting,  to  change  your  opinion  re 
garding  me,  the  time  is  past  when  I  could  consistently 
do  so,  and  circumstances  have  occurred  which  render 
a  frank  explanation  between  us  necessary  to  my  im 
mediate  welfare,  and  your  personal  safety  now  and 
hereafter." 

For  all  appearance  of  effect  upon  the  hearer,  these 
words  might  as  well  have  been  addressed  to  the  dingy 
marble  bust  of  Lord  Lyttleton,  which  was  the  only 
ornament  in  the  room,  and  appropriately  surmounted 
a  case  of  la,v  books  immediately  behir.d  Stephen  Rob 
erts'  desk ;  he  did  not,  however,  lt?t  the  words  pass 
without  comment. 

"My  safety,  Judge  Anderson?"   he  said  inquiring- 


DANIEL  BOuNE.  2$  I 

ly;  "I  can  not  imagine  how  that  can  jossibly  be  im 
perilled." 

"  You  will  learn,"  responded  the  other,  coldly,  '  bo 
fore  our  present  interview  is  concluded.  I  trust  that 
your  walls  are  of  ordinary  thickness,  and  that  you/ 
doors  are  not  accustomed  to  eavesdroppers." 

Roberts  flushed  a  little  at  this,  but  said  simply : 
"You  can  speak  as  freely  as  you  are  now  speaking" — 
and  this  was  evidently  said  with  a  double  meaning — 
"  no  one  but  myself  will  hear  you." 

"  That  is  well,",  responded  the  Judge  ;  "  now  I  want 
to  ask  you — and  I  desire  you  to  understand  that  for  all 
questions  I  do  ask,  I  have  a  sure  foundation  in  facts 
known  to  me — I  want  to  ask  you  why  you  organized 
the  conspiracy  which  resulted  in  the  abduction  and 
confinement  of  Daniel  Boone  ?  " 

"  You  are  assuming  a  good  deal,"  began  Roberts — 
but  he  was  interrupted,  and  the  manner  of  his  visitot 
became  more  imposing,  as  though  indeed  he  were 
clothed  in  the  judicial  ermine,  and  preparing  to  sen 
tence  a  condemned  malefactor. 

"  As  I  told  you  a  moment  since,  I  assume  nothing ; 
and  if  you  possess  the  wisdom  and  judgment  I  have 
always  ascribed  to  you  above  most  men  of  my  acquaint 
ance,  you  will  at  once  abandon  all  child's  play,  and  take 
this  matter  very  seriously." 

His  words  produced  an  astonishing  effect  upon  his 
hearer.  So  peculiar  was  the  change  of  appearance  and 
demeanor  which  now  came  over  Stephen  Roberts  tliat 
one  could  only  have  likened  this  to  the  preparation  of 


252  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

a  serpent  about  to  strike,  or  a  wild  and  vicious  animal 
standing  at  bay  for  the  protection  of  its  young. 

"  You  are  a  man  of  your  word,  Judge  Anderson, 
whatever  else  I  may  think  of  you  ;  and  I  am  going  tc 
take  you  at  it.  I  know  that  you  would  not  have 
sought  me  personally  for  a  conference  of  this  character, 
if  the  purpose  you  had  in  view  could  have  been  ef 
fected  to  your  equal  satisfaction  through  the  ordinary 
processes  of  the  law.  I  am  going  to  speak  frankly  to 
you,  even  though  the  trust  I  impose  be  that  of  my 
life  itself. 

"  I  did  organize  the  expedition  of  which  you  speak, 
and  which  you  might,  perhaps,  legally  and  appropri 
ately  term  a  conspiracy — though  none  of  the  other 
actors  in  it  are  now  living.  My  reason  for  instigating 
and  inaugurating  it  was  briefly  this  :  To  oppose  you  ir 
carrying  out  an  object  which  I  knew  to  be  near  to  your 
heart,  by  delaying,  at  least,  its  conduct,  through  the 
removal  of  an  instrument  absolutely  essential  to  its 
success." 

A  flash,  as  of  surprise,  passed  over  Judge  Anderson's 
face,  as  he  heard  this  extraordinary  explanation. 

"  To  what  purpose  do  you  allude,  and  by  what  means 
did  you  become  acquainted  with  it  ?  " 

"The  purpose  in  question  was  one  which  you  are 
now  conducting — I  presume  to  a  successful  conclusion 
despite  my  efforts  to  prevent  it ;  it  was  and  is,  by  the 
purchase  of  large  tracts  of  land  in  the  West,  to  estab 
lish  new  settlements,  and  draw  from  the  population  of 
this  Colony  ;  and  chiefly  with  the  design  of  weakening 


DANIEL  1100  ME.  253 

by  such  means,  the  organization  of  which  I  am  proud 
to  say  I  am  an  active  member." 

If  Judge  Anderson  was  surprised  before,  his  looks 
expressed  amazement  now. 

"  But,  Mr.  Roberts,"  he  said,  "  I  can  not  understand 
how  you  have  reached  such  a  complete  misconception 
of  my  purpose,  nor  how  you  have  made  it  to  assume 
an  attitude  inimical  to  the  Regulators,  with  whose 
movement  I  know,  of  course,  you  are  tied  up  body 
and  soul." 

"  Judge  Anderson,  there  is  no  sense  in  you  and  I 
bandying  words  without  meaning  in  this  matter ;  I  am 
as  you  say,  given  up  with  all  my  power  and  ability, 
such  as  they  are,  to  the  cause  of  the  oppressed  of  this 
Colony." 

As  the  man  said  these  words,  and  as  he  proceeded, 
his  face  became  transfigured,  and  no  one  who  gazed 
upon  it  would  for  a  moment  have  doubted  the  fanati 
cal  belief  and  determination  which  actuated  him. 

"You  are  a  Royalist  official  of  high  position  and  a 
Judge  on  the  bench  in  the  pay  of  the  Crown.  To  you 
the  condition  of  your  fellow-creatures  in  the  lower  or 
ders  of  society,  can  be  of  no  interest — save  as  it  be- 
comes,  from  time  to  time,  your  duty  to  put  them  out 
of  their  misery  by  sending  them  to  the  prison  cell  01 
to  execution." 

"Great  God!"  cried  the  other,  and  he  raised  his 
hands,  astounded  at  this  definition  of  his  character  and 
nature. 

Stephen  Roberts  paid  no  attention  to  the  exclama 


UFE  A^D  TIMES  OF 

tion,  but  went  on.  "  But  this  outbreak,  Judge  Ander 
son,  within  the  limits  which  confine  it  in  this  Colony 
is  a  mere  incident  and  a  beginning,  in  its  connection 
with  what  is  now  progressing  elsewhere  throughout 
these  provinces,  and  which  will  finally,  I  tell  you,  cul 
minate  in  a  revolution. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  continued,  and  springing  to  his  feet, 
he  paced  the  floor  of  his  little  office — perhaps  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  rising  to  a  state  of  excited  feeling 
which  was  evidently  genuine  ;  "  the  people  of  these 
Colonies  have  been  loyal  to  the  King  of  England  until 
Royalty  is  a  crime  ;  already,  as  my  correspondence  tells 
me,  and  yours  ought  to  tell  you,  these  people  are 
aroused  to  a  determination  toward  resistance  against 
royalty,  which  will  never  end  until  they  shall  break  off 
the  yoke  which  now  burdens  and  confines  them — be 
yond  the  right  of  man  or  king  to  impose  it. 

"  And  I  was  not  wrong,  Judge  Anderson,  but  clearly 
and  certainly  right  in  my  judgment  of  this  purpose  of 
yours  ;  that  it  was  designed  and  is  being  carried  out  to 
still  further  weaken  and  embarrass  those  whose  inter 
ests  I  have  at  heart.  And  whatever  may  come  to  me, 
I  warrant  you,  that  in  the  end  you  and  those  who  with 
you  serve  a  tyrannical  monarch  and  his  creatures,  shall 
fall,  crushed  to  the  earth  by  the  determined  and  jus 
vengeance  of  an  outraged  people." 

As  he  said  these  last  words,  Roberts  .returned  to  his 
seat,  into  which  he  sank  exhausted  with  the  excitement 
of  his  thoughts  and  his  forcible  declamation. 

After  the  first  few  \vords  which  he  had  uttered,  and 


DANIEL  BO  ONE.  25$ 

to  which  the  Judge  had  listened  with  an  expression  oi 
doubt  and  mystification  in  his  face,  the  full  sense  of 
them  seemed  to  come  to  him  at  once ;  his  countenance 
cleared,  and  he  heard  the  remainder  impassively,  and 
as  one  who  now  held  the  key  to  the  situation.  When 
Roberts  had  ceased  speaking,  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
and  in  a  voice  which  expressed  emotion  : 

"  Roberts,  I  have  misjudged  you.  I  had  taken  you 
for  a  cold-blooded  and  murderous  villain,  and  I  per 
ceive  that  you  are  only  a  misguided  fanatic.  So  far 
are  you  from  being  correct  in  your  views  of  me  and  of 
my  actions,  that  you  have  really  opposed  one  who  is  at 
heart  the  friend  of  the  cause  you  advocate. 

"  Now,  I  am  going  to  put  confidence  in  you,  but  I 
do  not  wish  to  do  it  in  a  way  to  mislead  you  ;  I  will 
say  at  the  outset,  that,  despite  your  opinion  to  the  con 
trary  I  have  you  completely  in  my  power.  How  that 
has  come  to  be  the  case,  I  shall,  perhaps,  explain  to 
you  before  I  leave  you  ;  meanwhile,  in  justice  to  your 
self,  I  may  add,  that  it  is  probable,  after  what  you  have 
said,  and  with  my  now  altered  judgment  concerning 
your  motives,  I  would  place  the  same  confidence  in  you 
even  were  the  circumstances  not  as  I  have  indicated. 

"  I  agree  with  you  fully  in  all  you  have  asserted  in  re 
gard  to  the  condition  of  the  people  of  these  Colonies ; 
and  my  impressions  and  convictions  are  the  same  as 
yours  concerning  the  cruelties,  exactions,  and  infamous 
extortions  which  have  been  practiced  on  this  people  by 
the  King  and  his  advisers.  I  also  agree  with  you  as  to 
the  revolutionary  condition  now  near  to  being  precipi. 


256  THE  UFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

tated  in  consequence ;  furthermore,  my  correspondence 
which  is  probably  more  extensive  and  more  exact  than 
yours,  places  me  in  the  possession  of  facts  that  more 
than  bear  you  out  in  your  statement. 

"  And  now  I  will  give  you  the  exact  truth  in  regard 
to  my  undertaking,  and  which  is  not  known  to  any  ex- 
cept  those  concerned  in  it  with  me. 

"  It  is,  in  fact,  looking  forward  to  such  a  revolution  aj 
that  of  which  you  have  spoken,  to  establish  on  the 
lands  which  we- contemplate  purchasing,  a  new  territory, 
whose  government  shall  be  Republican  and  subject  to 
no  King. 

"  So  far  has  this  purpose  progressed  that  the  form  of 
government  is  already  drawn  up,  and  even  the  name 
and  political  designation  of  the  territory  concluded 
upon. 

"  The  Republic  of  Transylvania  exists  to-day  or 
paper,  and  will  exist  a  few  years  hence,  de  facto' 
The  Judge  ceased  speaking,  and  the  effect  of  his  decla 
mation  was  at  once  manifest  and  emphatic.  • 

Rising,  Stephen  Roberts  stepped  forward  and  ex 
tended  his  hand.  The  other  took  it,  though  with  man 
ifest  unwillingness. 

"  Judge,  I  said  you  was  a  man  of  your  word,  and  I 
trust  what  you  have  told  me  implicitly."  Withdrawing 
his  hand,  he  passed  it  over  his  brow  for  a  moment,  and 
as  he  sat  down  he  staggered ;  he  was  silent  for  an  in 
stant,  and  when  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  voice  husky  and 
shaken  with  strong  feeling. 

"Judge — I  have — done  you  a  great  wrong — but — I 


D AX  I  EL  BOONE.  257 

have  done  myself  a  greater.  Under  the  influence  of 
my  error — I  have  committed  crimes  myself — and  insti 

gated  others Good  God,"  he  cried  aloud,  while  the 

perspiration  ran  down  his  cheeks — "  Even  now,  for 
aught  I  know,  still  another  crime  is  being  added  to  the 
category  of  those  which  I  have  occasioned,  and  for 
which  I  now  suffer  bitterly." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  Judge  earnestly. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  before  you  leave  ;  but  now  my  mind 
is  shaken  to  bewilderment  by  many  serious  thoughts." 

After  a  pause  of  some  moments,  he  resumed  :  "Judge, 
what  did  you  mean  by  telling  me  you  had  me  in  your 
power?  " 

"  Stephen  Roberts,  after  what  you  have  said,  and 
with  the  picture  of  remorse  and  feeling  which  you  ex 
hibit  before  me,  I  can  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  disclose 
this  horrible  secret." 

"Tell  it,  Judge,  tell  it,"  cried  the  other;  and  with  his 
head  bowed  over  his  desk  upon  his  hands,  "  I  half  sus 
pect  what  it  is,  and  would  rather  have  it  over  now  and 
with  you  than  bear  further  suspense  and  probably  dis 
covery  at  last." 

"  Well,  if  you  will  have  it,"  said  the  Judge,  "  I  will 
disclose  it  to  you,  but  prepare  yourself  for  a  fearful 
shock." 

Drawing  from  an  inner  pocket  of  his  coat  a  small 
wallet  he  carefully  abstracted  from  it  a  piece  of.  paper; 
opening  this  he  said :  "  On  the  3ist  of  December,  1768, 
you  visited  the  house  in  the  woods  where  Daniel 
Boone  had  been  confined ;  there  you  found  the  man- 


258  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

gled  remains  of  the  men  who  had  been  your  instru 
ments  in  his  abduction ;  their  dead  bodies  lay  about 
the  floor  in  various  positions,  a  horrible  and  memorable 
si£«t." 

Roberts  had  gradually  removed  his  hands  from  before 
lis  face,  and  was  now  looking  straight  at  the  Judge,  and 
listening  eagerly  ;  at  the  words  "  dead  bodies,"  a  sud 
den  gleam,  as  almost  of  hope,  lightened  his  face  for  a 
single  instant. 

"  But,"  continued  the  Judge,  "  you  found  that  two  of 
these  wretched  creatures  were  not  yet  dead ; — and,  so 
help  me  God  !  Stephen  Roberts," — and  rising,  he  pushed 
his  chair  back,  and  stood  sternly  gazing  on  the  cower 
ing  wretch  before  him,  while,  raising  his  right  hand  in 
the  air,  he  continued : — "  Instead  of  succoring  those 
two  miserable  victims  of  your  blind  error,  you  shot 
them  both  to  death ;  and — Stephen  Roberts — may  God 
have  mercy  on  your  soul !  " 

As  he  said  these  words  the  Judge  strode  to  the  win 
dow,  and  stood  apparently  looking  out ;  but  in  fact, 
vainly  striving  to  conceal  the  emotion  that  shook  his 
rugged  frame  to  the  core. 

There  was  dead  silence  in  the  room  ;  only  a  convul 
sive  movement  of  the  form  which  was  now  bowed  in 
agony,  showed  the  powerful  effort  that  the  man  was 
making  to  repress  the  sobs  which  seemed  ready  to  burst 
from  his  tightly-closed  lips. 

Starting  suddenly,  Judge  Anderson  approached  the 
desk,  where  he  stood  confronting  Roberts  like  an  ac 
cusing  angel. 


bANTEL  BOONK. 

"  Why  did  you  do  it  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Why  did  you  do 
it  ? — an  act  so  dastardly,  so  cruel,  so  unnecessary." 

"  No,  not  unnecessary,"  burst  forth  the  other ;  "  it  wag 
everything  else  that  was  fiendish  and  horrible,  I  admit ; 
but  at  the  moment  it  seemed  essential  to  the  safety  of 
ny  own  life ;  not  that  I  prized  that  for  itself,  for  I  did 
not,  nor  do  I  now  ;  far  less  now  than  ever,  God  knows ; 
but  for  the  cause  in  which  I  am  engaged.  But  there  is 
one  sin  of  mine  with  which  you  have  not  charged  me, 
and  of  which  perhaps  you  are  not  even  aware  at  this 
moment." 

"  And  what  is  that,  in  heaven's  name  ?  " 

"  It  was  I,  Judge  Anderson,  who  burned  your  place  ; 
at  least  it  was  by  my  orders  and  under  my  personal 
supervision  that  it  was  done. 

"  But  to  return.  Those  two  men  whom  I  murdered 
— for  I  admit  it — driven  by  an  impulse  which  I  could 
not  combat,  but  which  does  not  seem  to  me  to  have 
been  the  desire  for  self-preservation  merely  ; — those  two 
men  were  my  actual  confederates  and  instruments  in 
the  abduction  of  Boone  ;  and  that  might  in  the  end 
have  concluded  in  his  destruction.  Defeated  in  car 
rying  out  my  immediate  purpose,  and  knowing  that 
these  men  had  my  life  in  their  power,  and  were  certain 
o  at  least  make  it  forever  after  a  burden  to  me,  and 
render  me  useless  to  the  great  cause  I  had  espoused,  it 
came  upon  me  like  a  flash  of  intuition  that  they  must 
be  gotten  rid  of." 

"But  supposing,"  said  the  Judge,  "that  your  plot 
had  been  successful  and  Boone  had  not  been  re-capt» 


260  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  Of 

ured — would  you  not  have  been  equally  in  the  power  of 
these  men  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  "  because  in  that  case,  and 
with  Boone  disposed  of — and  he  would  either  have 
been  transferred  across  the  seas,  or  murdered — we 
would  have  all  been  in  the  same  boat,  and  would  have 
had  to  sink  or  swim  together. 

"Mind  you,  Judge,  I  am  not  attempting  to  palliate 
my  conduct ;  that  would  not  be  possible.  A  lifetime 
of  remorse  and  expiation  could  never  atone  for  what  I 
have  done.  I  am  only  explaining  to  you,  honestly  and 
truly,  the  reasons  that  actuated  me. 

"  But  now,  for  God's  sake,  Judge  Anderson,  tell  me 
how  it  was  possible  for  you  to  discover  the  truth  as  to 
this  act  ?  " 

The  Judge  still  held  the  piece  of  paper  which  he  had 
drawn  from  his  wallet;  unfolding  it  he  extended  it  be 
tween  his  two  hands  before  the  eyes  of  Stephen  Rob 
erts,  who  read  upon  it,  while  his  eyeballs  seemed  start 
ing  from  their  sockets  at  this  message  from  the  graves 
of  his  victims,  these  words : 

"  If  our  bodies  are  found  with  any  signs  of  death  upon 
them  but  bruises  and  the  effects  of  starvation,  that  in- 
fernal  blood-thirsty  villain,  Stephen  Roberts,  will  have 
killed  us  ;  murdered  us  in  cold  blood. 

"  WILLIAM  BUTLER. 
"  CHARLES  CLEEVES." 

**  Those  two  men,"  said  the  Judge,  sternly,  as  he  re. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  261 

stored  the  paper  to  his  wallet,  "  were  found  with  a  bul 
let  hole  through  each  of  their  skulls." 

With  nerveless  hands  shaking  in  the  air,  and  with  his 
face  distorted  with  fear  and  horror,  Stephen  Roberta 
took  into  his  mind  this  evidence  of  the  sin  that  had 
found  him  out  at  last. 

The  strain  was  too  great  for  overwrought  humanity 
to  bear. 

As  the  Judge  stood,  heart-stricken,  but  powerless  to 
avert  the  result  of  his  fearful  judgment  on  the  criminal 
before  him,  a  power  beyond  and  above  all  mortal  judges 
carried  the  sentence  of  the  Divine  law  into  effect. 

There  was  a  writhing  movement,  as  the  poor  wretch 
strove  to  rise  erect.  The  head  was  raised,  and  the 
mouth  opened ;  but  from  it  proceeded  no  sound. 
Suddenly  the  face  was  surcharged  and  blackened  with 
a  rush  of  blood  from  the  broken  heart ;  a  gurgling 
sound  was  heard  in  the  throat ;  and  then  with  a  sudden 
gasp  that  was  almost  a  shriek  of  mortal  agony,  the  tall 
frame  of  the  man  rose  to  its  full  height,  swayed  back 
ward  and  forward  for  an  instant,  and  then  fell  prone 
upon  the  floor. 

Recovering  himself  at  this  unexpected  and  tragical 
conclusion,  Judge  Anderson  knelt  by  the  side  of  what 
had  been  Stephen  Roberts,  and  turning  the  body  over 
placed  his  hands  upon  his  heart ;  blood  was  running 
from  his  mouth,  and  no  pulsation  throbbed  in  answer 
to  the  pressure  of  the  Judge's  hand — the  man  was  dead. 

Rising,   the  Judge   opened   the  door,  and    hurrying 


262       LIFE  AND  TIM£S  OF  bANIEL  £OON£. 

through  the  house  he  called  for  assistance ;  and  tc 
members  of  the  family  who  appeared  in  answer  to  his 
cries  he  stated  that  the  lawyer  had  fallen  in  a  fit  of 
apoplexy. 

There  were  sorrowing  and  outcries  and  lamentations. 
A  physician  was  sent  for,  and  the  final  decision  was 
given. 

Stephen  Roberts  was  dead. 

Leaving  the  grief-stricken  family,  with  such  words  of 
commiseration  as  occurred  to  him,  Judge  Anderson 
mounted  his  horse  and  rode  to  the  tavern,  where  he 
was  to  put  up  for  the  night ;  and  where  he  immediately 
retired  to  his  room,  crushed  and  broken  by  the  recol 
lection  of  the  fearful  scene  of  which  he  had  been  a  wit. 
ness. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Judge  Anderson  works  out  a  serious  problem  in  abstract  reasoning  to  *  correct 
conclusion,  through  an  incorrect  process. 

DURING  all  that  night,  Judge  Anderson  remained  in 
his  room  at  the  tavern. 

The  excitement  of  the  day  had  so  affected  him,  that 
though  a  man  of  strong  nerve,  and  but  little  impressi 
ble  by  even  the  most  grave  and  terrible  contingencies— 
of  which,  in  his  official  position,  he  necessarily  met  with 
many — there  was  yet  something  so  appalling  in  the  sud 
den  prostration  (seemingly  by  the  hand  of  God)  of  this 
man,  steeped  in  crime,  that  he  could  not  contemplate 
the  subject  with  equanimity. 

In  all  his  judicial  experience,  the  Judge  had  never 
met  with  a  case  of  crimes  of  such  magnitude,  and  in 
such  number,  being  committed  under  misapprehension, 
and  without  personal  interest  or  intention. 

Knowing  Stephen  Roberts  as  he  did,  he  easily  recog 
nized  the  fact  that  his  consistent  and  profound  interest 
in  the  cause  which  he  had  at  heart  had  rendered  him  a 
fanatic,  and  incompetent  to  discern  between  right  and 
wrong  in  cases  where  that  cause  was  concerned. 

He  perceived,  also,  that  the  terrible  murder  com 
mitted  by  him  oi  the  two  unfortunate  men  in  the  log- 
|j< >(,.«£  J/t  tjje  yyuojj.s,  \vs  ;»•*  In-  h.irl  alleged,  actuated 


264  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF" 

rather  by  the  feeling  that  his  life  was  valuable  to  the 
Revolution  which  was  impending,  than  from  any  per 
sonal  regard  for  it. 

The  manner  in  which  Judge  Anderson  had  been 
brought  to  a  knowledge  of  this  secret,  seemingly  bur 
ied  with  the  dead,  was  as  follows  : 

When  the  party  which  had  gone  out  from  Hillsbor- 
ough  to  bury  the  remains  of  the  victims  of  the  tragedy 
in  the  log-house  had  reached  the  fatal  spot,  one  of  their 
number,  in  removing  the  skeletons  to  their  burial-place, 
had  found  beside  the  body  of  Butler  the  earthen  pip 
kin  which  Roberts  had  used  to  give  water  to  the  two 
men  in  their  famishing  condition.  In  this  pipkin  he 
discovered  the  piece  of  paper  which  Judge  Anderson 
had  shown  to  Roberts. 

Being  unable  to  read,  and  rightly  concluding  that 
this  paper  might  contain  information  of  importance,  he 
had  kept  the  discovery  to  himself,  and  the  paper  in  his 
possession,  until  he  returned  to  Hillsborough,  when  he 
gave  it  to  Judge  Anderson,  who,  on  inquiry,  learned 
of  the  condition  in  which  the  two  men  had  been  found. 
The  Judge,  although  horrified  at  the  contents  of  this 
paper,  had  made  no  comment  upon  it,  treating  it  as  an 
unimportant  matter,  but  recommending  the  man  who 
gave  it  to  him  to  say  nothing  about  it — an  injunction 
which  had  been  strictly  kept. 

Judge  Anderson  had  also,  with  a  view  to  the  prose 
cution  of  the  matter  at  the  proper  time,  when  measures 
could  be  taken  to  effect  this  with  the  most  certainty, 
and  with  care  that  justice  should  be  done,  had  up  to 


DANIEL  BOONE.  26$ 

this  time  made  no  public  exposure  of  the  knowledge 
concerning  the  crime  in  his  possession. 

The  death  of  Stephen  Roberts  was  a  severe  blow  to 
the  Regulators. 

He  was  a  man  of  profound  ability  and  capacity  for 
organization,  and  seemingly  formed  for  just  such  a  pur- 
pose  as  the  inauguration  and  conduct  of  a  plot  like  that 
in  which  he  had  been  engaged.  And  this  was  not  the 
only  blow  which  the  cause  of  the  Regulators  had  suf 
fered  in  the  year  which  we  are  now  considering. 

In  the  spring  of  that  year  Governor  Tryon  had  com 
bined  a  large  body  of  militia  and  volunteers,  and  on 
May  1 5th  he  crossed  the  Great  Alamance  River  with 
a  force  one  thousand  strong,  and  fought  a  battle  with 
the  Regulators,  who  were  two  thousand  in  number. 
The  latter  were  defeated,  losing  about  twenty  dead 
and  several  hundred  wounded,  while  sixty-one  of  the 
militia  were  either  wounded  or  killed  during  the  en 
gagement. 

After  this  defeat,  the  leaders  were  tried  and  exe 
cuted,  except  such  as  managed  to  escape  and  fled  from 
the  Colony.  Stephen  Roberts,  however,  had  cov 
ered  his  tracks,  and  was  a  man  of  much  importance 
in  the  community,  and  one,  moreover,  against  whom 
there  seemed  to  be  no  direct  evidence  sufficient  to  jus 
tify  his  indictment,  and  he  had,  up  to  the  period  of  his 
death,  been  permitted  to  go  free  from  restraint,  though 
suspected  and  closely  watched. 

An  inquest  on  his  remains  was  held  on  the  day  fol, 
lowing  his  death,  and  at  which,  of  course,  Judge 
II 


266  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

son  was  a  prominent  witness.  The  Judge's  testimony 
had  been  framed  in  his  mind  with  a  due  sense  of  all  the 
grave  interests  involved.  His  evidence  was  simple,  ami 
to  the  effect  that,  having  been  engaged  in  a  business 
interview  with  the  deceased,  the  latter  had,  during  its 
continuance,  displayed  considerable  excitement  of  man 
ner,  evincing  a  great  deal  of  mental  and  physical  dis 
turbance.  Toward  the  close  of  the  interview  this  condi 
tion  had  suddenly  increased ;  he  had  been  overcome  by 
an  apoplectic  fit,  and  had  fallen  instantly  and  expired. 

After  the  inquest  and  the  funeral,  Judge  Anderson 
returned  to  his  seat  at  Granville,  where  his  new  man 
sion  was  now  completed  and  suitably  furnished,  as  he 
had  indicated  to  be  his  intention  in  his  conversation 
with  Rafe  and  Harry  more  than  t\vo  years  before. 

Here,  in  the  seclusion  of  his  study,  he  was  able  to 
give  a  more  clear  and  dispassionate  consideration  to  the 
substance  of  his  interview  with  Roberts  than  had  been 
before  possible. 

In  reviewing  this,  he  was  reminded  that  the  Regula 
tor  had  intimated  to  him,  in  one  of  his  sudden  bursts 
of  passionate  declaration,  that  one  of  his  many  crimes 
was  still  in  process  of  being  carried  out.  But  as  to  this, 
as  will  be  remembered,  he  had  deferred  the  explanation, 
and  the  opportunity  for  again  considering  it  had  been 
lost  by  the  catastrophe  which  ended  in  his  death. 

The  Judge  now  bent  his  mind  to  an  endeavor  to  dis 
cover,  though  without  clue  as  he  was,  the  nature  and 
meaning  of  this  declaration,  so  far  as  it  went,  and  of 
the  crime  which  it  had  intimated. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  267 

Such  A  problem  was  one  which  would  have  sorely 
taxed  the  ingenuity  of  the  ablest  lawyer  or  logician  ; 
but  Judge  Anderson's  intellect  was  keen  and  acute, 
sharpened  by  profound  study  and  long  practice  in  ana- 
lyzing  the  acts  and  motives  of  men  under  different  cort' 
ditions ;  and  though  he  approached  the  subject  with 
diffidence,  in  doubt  of  his  own  powers,  he  was  not  en 
tirely  without  a  hope  that  the  key  to  the  enigma  might 
eventually  be  reached. 

By  reasoning  backward,  he  concluded,  in  the  first  in- 
stance,  that  this  crime  must  have  been  in  some  way 
connected  with  himself,  or  that  it  had  reference  to  per- 
sons  or  interests  in  which  he  was  concerned,  or  Roberts 
would  not  have  alluded  to  it  in  conversation  with  him. 
He  drew  this  reasonable  inference  from  the  fact  that 
the  murder  of  the  two  men,  for  instance,  was  not  men 
tioned  between  them  until  he  had  himself  alluded  to  it ; 
that  murder  being  a  matter  personal  to  Stephen  Rob 
erts,  and  having  no  connection  with  himself. 

Thus  reasoning,  he  had  narrowed  the  circumference 
of  possibilities  in  regard  to  this  crime  to  a  limit  within 
which  he  could  more  readily  handle  it.  He  now  pro 
ceeded  to  reduce  this  limit  still  more,  by  bringing  be- 
foie  his  mind  the  names  of  persons  connected  with  him 
self  and  in  whom  he  was  interested,  who  might  have 
possibly  come  in  contact  or  conflict  with  Stephen  Rob 
erts. 

A  very  slight  reviewal  of  this  side  of  the  question, 
suggesting  one  name  after  the  other,  each  in  turn  being 
dismissed  as  impossible  or  improbable  in  that  connec- 


268  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

tion.  presently  brought  to  his  mind  the  memory  of  ar 
interview  held  between  Harry  Calvert  and  Roberts  in 
regard  to  the  abduction  of  Boone,  and  which  had  been 
recounted  to  him  by  Calvert  himself,  during  the  rela 
tion  of  the  expedition  for  Boone's  recapture. 

This  interview,  in  itself,  had  only  illustrated  the  char 
acter  of  Roberts,  his  skill  of  fence,  and  his  determina 
tion  to  keep  secret  his  connection  with  Boone's  capture 
and  imprisonment. 

In  striving  to  connect  with  this  all  the  circumstances 
surrounding  it,  with  a  view  to  bringing  these  occur 
rences  closer  home  to  himself,  the  Judge  was  reminded 
of  the  fact  that  Calvert  at  that  time  had  been  accom 
panied  to  Hillsborough  by  the  others  of  his  party,  in- 
tluding  Rafe  Slaughter.  These  he  knew  had  been  left 
Dehind  at  the  tavern,  while  Calvert  and  Mike  had  pro 
ceeded,  each  in  his  several  attempt  at  obtaining  informa 
tion  concerning  the  object  of  their  quest. 

While  cogitating  on  all  these  personages  and  inci 
dents,  his  mind  naturally  reverted  incidentally  to  the 
object  of  Calvert's  journey  to  Baltimore.  This,  also, 
caused  him  to  reflect  on  the  disinheritance  of  the  young 
man  and  the  nature  of  the  will,  with  whose  purport  he 
had  been  made  acquainted. 

Unconsciously,  almost,  he  found  himself  drifting  into 
a  legal  analysis  of  the  provisions  of  that  instrument. 
The  strange  and  unexpected  course  of  the  old  uncle  in 
disinheriting  his  favorite  nephew,  and  disposing  of  the 
bulk  of  his  estate  in  the  direction  of  one  whom  he  had 
never  esteemed,  and  whose  reputation  was  unsavory 


DANIEL  BOONE.  26g 

this,  with  the  proviso,  that  if,  after  seven  years,  the  legal 
heir  should  not  have  appeared,  the  property  was  to  re 
vert  to  the  one  who,  in  all  justice,  ought  to  have  it. 
All  of  this  did  not  fail  to  interest  and  puzzle  the  mind 
of  the  lawyer  and  judge  when  he  first  heard  it. 

Why  the  whole  question  should  re-form  itself  in  his 
mind  at  this  juncture,  when  he  so  fully  desired  to  oc 
cupy  it  with  other  thoughts,  disturbed  and  surprised 
him.  It  was  one  of  those  strange  psychological  move 
ments  that  sometimes  occur,  by  a  natural  order  of 
things,  in  answer  to  a  positive  law  of  analogies,  though 
in  defiance  of  our  preconceived  intention  and  even  of 
our  will. 

The  Judge  was -a  deep  thinker,  and  accustomed  to 
view  the  characteristics  of  mental  movement  with  great 
respect.  In  the  present  instance  he  could  not  but  think 
that  there  was  something  in  this  connection  in  his  mind, 
of  matters  apparently  foreign  to  the  question  he  had 
in  hand,  that  must  import  something  suggestive,  if  he 
could  only  discover  it.  Suddenly,  as  if  by  a  flash  of 
intuition,  a  key  was  given  to  him. 

The  Judge  was  well  aware  of  the  fact  that  Stephen 
Roberts,  who  knew  everything  that  happened  in  his 
own  town  and  neighborhood,  not  only  almost  instinct 
ively,  but  from  the  fact  that  he  had  always  emissaries 
about  to  keep  him  informed,  must  have  known  of  tho 
presence  of  Calvert's  companions  at  the  tavern. 

He  had  met  Rafe  Slaughter,  and  knew  him  to  be  at 
tached  to  Judge  Anderson's  household  as  the  hitters 
confidential  secretary  and  agent.  With  his  conceded 


270  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

hatred  of  the  Judge,  he  would  naturally  be  inimical 
to  any  one  closely  connected  with  him,  and  would 
not  hesitate  to  do  injury  to  the  Judge  through  his 
agent. 

Besides,  Roberts  would  readily  understand  that  what 
ever  direction  was  to  be  given  to  Boone  in  regard  to  his 
expedition,  would  be  given  through  Rafe  Slaughter, 
acting  for  the  Judge,  and  sent  out  to  join  Boone  un 
doubtedly  for  that  purpose. 

The  success  of  Harry  and  his  companions  in  discov 
ering  Boone's  place  of  confinement  and  releasing  him  ; 
the  after-prosecution  of  the  enterprise  as  originally  in 
tended,  by  all  the  parties  who  had  originated  it— all  01 
this,  he  was  aware,  was  well  known  to  Stephen  Roberts. 

The  fact  that  the  parties  had  moved  separately,  ow 
ing  to  the  accidental  delay  of  Rafe  and  Harry,  was  not 
known  to  Roberts,  so  far  as  he  was  aware.  He  had 
nimself  been  informed  of  it  by  a  letter  which  Rafe  had 
sent  to  him  shortly  before  Harry  Catvert  had  started 
into  the  woods  on  the  track  of  Boone.- 

All  of  these  facts  passed  rapidly  through  his  mind, 
and  the  Judge  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  the  fresh 
crime  which  Stephen  Roberts  had  instigated  and  prob 
ably  set  in  motion,  was  nothing  less  than  the  destruc 
tion  of  Rafe  Slaughter  ;  or,  at  least,  the  gaining  posses 
sion  of  whatever  valuable  papers  he  might  carry  about 
him  having  relation  to  the  settlement  and  organization 
of  the  country  of  Transylvania. 

It  will  be  observed  by  the  reader  that  Judge  Ander- 
gpn  had  by  this  time  lost  sight  of  the  impression  which 


DANIXL 

had  so  strongly  affected  him,  that  Harry  Calvert's  for 
tunes  were  in  some  way  mixed  up  with  this  crime. 

A  more  natural  conclusion,  that  the  occasion  of  such 
action  on  the  part  of  Stephen  Roberts  would  be  his  per 
sonal  enmity  to  Judge  Anderson,  had  driven  out  an  idea, 
which,  if  it  had  been  more  carefully  adhered  to  and 
scrutinized,  would  have  brought  about  a  more  correct 
solution.  Although  the  after-results  proved  to  be  the 
same,  the  real  facts  in  the  case  were  more  complicated  ; 
as  will  be  seen  when  the  nature  of  the  conflicting  mo 
tives  which  had  actuated  Stephen  Roberts  in  his  course 
shall  be  made  known  to  the  reader,  as  they  afterward 
vere  to  Judge  Anderson. 

At  present  it  is  not  necessary,  and  would  be  subver 
sive  of  one  of  the  designs  in  the  plot  of  this  narrative, 
to  relate  them  ;  and  besides  which,  as  has  been  sug 
gested,  there  were  apparently  two  roads  out  of  the 
difficulty,  and  Judge  Anderson  had  fortunately  chosen 
one  of  them. 

The  conclusion  which  he  had  reached  assumed  at 
once  to  the  Judge  the  force  of  an  actuating  motive. 

He  conceived  that  his  secretary  and  friend  was  in 
danger  from  the  vengeance  which  reached  out  to  take 
his  life — even  after  the  instigator  of  the  act  had  passed 
away  to  render  his  own  account  for  much  wrong-doing. 

While  he  was  aware,  that  even  now  he  might  be  too 
late,  the  Judge  was  not  a  man  to  let  that  possibility 
interfere  with  what  he  clearly  saw  to  be  his  duty.  He 
determined  at  once  to  set  forth  in  search  of  Rafe 
Slaughter ;  and  supposing  that  the  latter  had  succeeded 


272        LIFE  AND  TTMES  OF  DANIEL  BOONS. 

by  this  time  in  joining  Boone,  he  desired,  moreover,  to 
expedite  the  prime  objects  of  the  expedition  by  his 
own  personal  presence  and  intervention. 

The  Judge  set  about  this  matter  at  once,  by  commu 
nicating  with  the  Governor  of  the  Province,  informing 
him  that  important  business  would  require  his  absence 
from  his  seat  probably  for  several  months.  Having 
made  this  formal  announcement,  he  required  no  per 
mission  to  leave  his  official  duties  for  the  time  required  ; 
since  these  he  could  readily  depute  to  another. 

The  Judge  now  proceeded  in  his  preparations,  and 
in  a  few  days  had  set  forth  from  his  seat  properly 
accompanied,  and  provided  for  all  possible  exigencies 
of  the  undertaking. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

In  which  the  hapless  condition  of  Squire  ;  nd  Lady  O'Brien  offers  a  lesson  oi 
charity  and  patience ;  and  the  Squire,  himself,  concludes  that  he  is  being 
involved  in  the  meshes  of  a  network  of  mystery. 

WE  will  return  now  for  a  brief  space  to  the  family  at 
Mount  Mourne,  which  had  been  so  seriously  reduced 
by  the  defection  of  the  party  whom  we  left  in  the  wilds 
of  Kentucky. 

The  mental  condition  of  the  Squire  and  his  Lady 
after  the  departure  of  Maude,  was  for  a  time  pitiable 
to  witness.  As  we  have  said,  the  guests  who  had  been 
present  at  the  Christmas  festivities  described  in  a  pre 
vious  chapter,  had  all  taken  their  departure,  leaving 
the  family  reduced  to  these  two  and  their  little  son  ; 
and  the  great  house  was  comparatively  empty.  t 

This  condition  continued  during  the  following  win-  t 
ter,  and  the  deserted  couple  had  ample  time  for  reflec 
tion  on  the  result  of  their  severity ;  and,  as  may  be 
supposed,  such  reflection  was  not  calculated  to  restore 
them  to  anything  like  equanimity  of  mind  or  placidity 
of  temper.  For  a  time  the  affair  brought  about  a  cool 
ness  between  the  Squire  and  Lady  O'Brien  ;  but  this 
could  hardly  be  of  long  duration.  Her  Ladyship  was 

too  shrewd  a  woman,  and  had  too  long  managed  and 
xa* 


274  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  Of 

controlled  her  husband,  to  permit  any  matter,  however 
serious,  to  permanently  alienate  him. 

After  the  first  few  days,  and  the  excitement  of  the 
sudden  and  unexpected  change  of  affairs,  these  two 
conferred  very  little  concerning  them.  It  was  tacitly 
admitted  between  them  that  they  were  both  immedi 
ately  to  blame  ;  and  as  but  little,  if  any,  advantage 
could  result  to  either  from  recrimination,  they  soon 
fell  into  their  customary  attitude  with  regard  to  each 
other. 

The  Squire,  however,  felt  the  loss  of  Maude  far  more 
deeply  than  did  his  wife.  He  loved  Maude  devotedly, 
and  with  a  tenderness  that  only  a  father  can  feel  toward 
a  daughter.  For  it  is  a  fact,  that  however  much  affec 
tion  a  mother  may  experience  for  a  girl  child  who  is 
born  to  her,  whom  she  educates  and  trains  under  her 
own  eye,  who  recalls  to  her  mind  her  own  childhood 
and  girlhood — yet  there  is,  always,  as  the  daughter 
advances  in  years,  a  feeling  of  antagonism  in  the  mind 
of  her  mother :  a  jealousy  of  her  years  and  her  grow 
ing  charms  which  goes  far  to  do  away  with,  maternal 
affection. 

As  the  reader  will  have  easily  concluded  in  consider 
ing  the  attitude  assumed  by  Lady  O'Brien  toward  her 
daughter,  as  described  to  some  slight  extent  in  the 
course  of  this  story,  there  had  been  but  very  little  con 
sideration  shown  to  the  latter. 

Maude  had  bloomed  into  womanhood,  with  a  degree 
of  beauty  and  intelligence  which  made  her  a  favorite 
with  all  those  who  visited  at  her  father's  house.  This 


BOONE. 


275 


fact  was  not 'calculated  to  improve  her  position  in  the 
mind  and  regard  of  her  mother. 

Lady  O'Brien  was  a  woman  possessed  of  decided 
self-esteem,  which  had  been  fostered  in  her  younger 
days  by  the  attentions  which  she  had  received  in  the 
best  circles  of  Europe.  She  was  now  in  the  prime  of 
life,  still  very  handsome,  being  stately  and  imposing  in 
her  manner  and  carriage,  and  it  was  not  surprising  that 
a  tinge  of  jealousy  should  have  entered  into  her  con- 
-duct  in  regard  to  one  who  actually  assumed,  though 
not  with  design,  a  position  in  society  which  might  be 
considered  in  rivalry  with  her  own. 

And  although  Maude  was  of  a  sweet  and  gentle  dK 
position,  and  rarely  came  into  collision  with  anybody 
it  could  hardly  be  expected  that  her  relations  to  Lady 
O'Brien  should  not  have  reacted  upon  her  regard  for 
her  mother,  and  to  some  extent  upon  her  conduct.  It 
will  certainly  be  conceded  that  these  relations  might 
well  have  exercised  some  influence,  in  actuating  the 
girl  to  take  the  important  step  which  she  had  done. 

Having  taken  this  step,  Lady  O'Brien,  while  missing 
her,  and  in  some  ways  regretting  the  difference  between 
them,  soon  experienced  a  feeling  of  relief ;  while  her 
piide  prevented  her  from  showing  even  the  little  senti 
ment  of  remorse  and  sorrow  which  oppressed  her. 

But  with  the  Squire  it  was  quite  different  ;  his  feel 
ing  for  the  girl,  of  whom  he  had  always  made  a  pet,  and 
in  later  years  a  companion,  would  not  permit  him  to 
forget  her  even  for  a  moment.  The  loss  of  her  sunny 
presence  threw  a  gloom  afrout  hi  jr.  tlte*  he  felt  bitterly 


276  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Gradually  as  the  months  passed  by  he  seemed  ts 
visibly  grow  older,  and  a  care-worn  expression  came 
over  his  genial  countenance.  He  devoted  himself  more 
than  ever  to  the  duties  of  his  estate,  and  although  Lady 
O  Brien,  early  in  the  spring,  insisted  on  extending  invi 
tations,  and  receiving  and  entertaining  guests  through 
the  summer,  when  this  part  of  North  Carolina  was 
pleasanter  than  other  sections,  the  Squire  interested 
himself  but  very  little  in  her  plans,  and  appeared  but 
seldom  among  those  who  visited  them. 

An  exception  was  made  by  him,  however,  in  the  case 
of  the  good  rector,  Dr.  Bullock  :  who  was  frequently  at 
the  great  house,  and  between  whom  and  the  Squire 
there  was  a  closer  acquaintance,  and  even  friendship, 
than  the  latter  permitted  with  any  other. 

The  first  year  passed  away  without  any  incident  of 
importance  marking  the  domestic  life  at  Mount  Mourne. 
The  absent  one  was  now  seldom  mentioned  between 
the  Squire  and  his  wife. 

Through  Thomas  Hardeman's  family,  word  then 
came  of  the  interference,  by  accident,  with  the  original 
plans  of  Rafe  Slaughter  and  Harry  Calvert  ;  of  the  de 
parture  of  the  latter  without  his  friends  to  follow  the 
trail  of  Boone  ;  and  after  this  there  was  a  long  silence. 
Then  the  news  reached  them — in  the  summer  of  1771 
— that  the  remainder  of  the  party  had  gone  out  with  a 
guide  to  endeavor  to  find  both  Boone  and  Harry  ;  and 
this  seemingly  reckless  and  even  foolish  action  on  the 
part  of  Maude  and  Mademoiselle  Raimonde,  brought  the 
whole  subject  once  more  before  the  Squire  and  his  wife* 


DANIEL  BOONS.  277 

The  latter  could  hardly  find  words  sufficiently  strong 
to  effectually  characterize  her  daughter's  boldness  in 
venturing  upon  such  a  procedure  as  she  had  under 
taken. 

"  The  audacity  of  the  girl !  "  she  cried,  in  one  of  their 
conversations  ;  "  to  think  that  one  apparently  so  mod 
est  as  she,  and  brought  up  under  the  wholesome  re 
straint  and  discipline  of  a  respectable  family,  should  go 
off  with  two  young  men  tramping  through  the  woods, 
with  the  admitted  purpose  of  hunting  up  her  lover! 
If  it  had  been  her  husband,  it  would  be  bad  enough  ; 
putting  aside  the  danger,  which  everybody  who  knows 
anything  about  it  says  is  extreme,  not  alone  from  In 
dians,  but  from  wild  beasts  and  reptiles  as  well — putting 
that  out  of  the  question,  the  immodesty  of  such  conduct 
in  my  daughter  is  something  that  I  can  not  understand." 

The  emphasis  which  Lady  O'Brien  put  upon  the  pro 
noun  m_yt  showed  very  clearly  that  her  Ladyship  would 
not  have  been  surprised  at  any  action  of  the  nature  she 
described  in  anybody  else's  daughter,  but  felt  a  right  to 
be  astounded  that  her  instruction  and  her  direction 
should  have  so  soon  and  so  thoroughly  lost  its  influence 
in  the  present  instance. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  the  Squire  ventured  to  remark, 
"  your  way  of  putting  the  case  a  little  exaggerates  it." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

'  Why,  in  the  first  place,  she  did  not  go  off  with  two 
young  men,  for  Rafe  Slaughter  is  old  enough  to  be  het 
father.  I  am  sure  I  would  trust  her  with  him  any* 
where,  if  only  on  account. of  the  credentials  he  brought 


278  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

from  my  friend  Dick  Anderson  ;  and  as  for  Thomai 
Hardeman,  they  have  been  playmates  from  childhood, 
and  I  would  as  soon  think  wrong  of  her  for  going  off 
with  her  own  br  Dther,  if  she  had  been  so  fortunate  as 
to  be  blessed  with  one  old  enough,  as  I  would  with 
him. 

"  And  again,"  he  continued,  "  you  allude  to  this  ex 
pedition  as  if  Maude  went  off  unaccompanied  by  any 
female  ;  the  fact  being,  as  you  well  know,  that  Mademoi 
selle  Raimonde  is  with  her,  who  has  had  charge  of  her 
from  infancy  ;  and  that  Rose  is  there,  to  afford  such 
practical  comfort  as  an  experienced  and  attached  serv 
ant  could  give  under  such  circumstances." 

"  Mademoiselle  Raimonde,"  observed  her  Ladyship, 

always  struck  me  as  a  woman  of  sense.  And  although 
I  know  very  well  that  she  had  a  romantic  phase  in  her 
character,  which  probably  only  wanted  an  opportunity 
for  development,  I  never  did  think  that  she  would  assist 
in  such  a  wild  escapade  as  this.  It  sounds  like  the  ab 
surdities  one  sometimes  hears  of  in  a  French  boarding- 
school,  but  which  never,  however,  come  to  anything 
but  talk. 

"  But  I  am  surprised  that  you,  who  profess  to  love 
Maude  so  much  more  than  I  do,  can  calmly  contem 
plate  such  a  situation  as  this  in  which  she  has  placed 
herself.  Why,  ever  since  I  heard  of  it  I  can  hardly 
sleep  ;  my  dreams  are  all  of  Indians,  bears,  and  snakes. 
Often  I  awake  with  a  cold  perspiration  pouring  off  me, 
imagining  and  almost  seeing  her  pursued  by 
frightful  savages." 


DANIEL  BOONE. 

The  Squire  answered  nothing  to  this.  In  truth,  his 
own  case  was  very  much  like  that  described,  but  proba 
bly  never  experienced  by  Lady  O'Brien.  The  fact  be 
ing  that  the  possible  fate  of  his  daughter  at  the  handa 
of  the  savage  tribes,  which  he  very  well  knew  infested 
the  country  she  was  in,  was  a  feature  of  the  whole  affai 
that  never  left  him,  and  cost  him  many  moments  ol 
bitter  anguish  and  regret. 

The  Squire  found  his  greatest  comfort  in  conversa 
tions  with  the  rector. 

Dr.  Bullock  was  a  man  who  had  long  been  on  the 
frontier,  and  who  had  often,  to  some  extent,  ministered 
among  the  Indian  tribes  themselves,  in  places  remote 
from  the  white  settlements.  He  was  familiar  with  their 
habits  and  their  modes  of  thought. 

At  this  time  the  old  bitterness  and  exasperation 
against  the  whites,  which  had  so  often  driven  the  In 
dians  to  commit  terrible  enormities,  had  in  a  consider, 
able  measure  died  away,  and,  meanwhile,  its  renewal, 
so  far  as  the  Colonists  were  concerned,  and  which  oc 
curred  a  few  years  later  under  the  instigation  of  British 
agents,  had  not  yet  begun  to  exist.  It  had,  indeed, 
been  a  long  time  since  any  serious  difficulties  had  oc 
curred  between  the  two  races,  particularly  in  the  prov 
ince  of  North  Carolina  and  its  borders. 

"  Except  when  the  Indians  are  actually  at  war  with 
the  whites,"  said  Dr.  Bullock,  one  day  when  the  two 
were  discussing  this  question,  "  and  unless  some  specific 
offence  has  been  committed  against  them,  they  are  not 
inclined  to  proceed  to  extremities  even  with  their  caj> 


THE  Lltt  AND  TIMES  OP 

tives.  It  is  not  as  it  was  one  hundred  years  ago,  whea 
their  first  thought  was  of  murder  and  outrage.  The  In 
dians  have  found  that  they  can  get  on  much  better, 
and  improve  their  own  condition  more  decidedly,  by 
keeping  on  passably  good  terms  with  the  whites,  than 
by  antagonizing  them. 

"  Our  traders,  as  you  know,  Squire,  especially  the 
Scotch,  have  penetrated  the  southwest  clear  to  New 
Orleans,  buying  peltries  and  exchanging  them  .n  the 
settlements  for  fire-arms,  ammunition,  and,  I  regret  to 
say,  *  fire-water/  This  sort  of  association  has  awakened 
the  most  savage  tribes  to  an  understanding  that  they 
can  best  obtain  what  they  most  need,  by  keeping  on 
good  terms  with  those  who  could  provide  them. 

"  It  is  a  very  long  time  since  you  and  I  have  heard  of 
any  outrages  committed  by  Indians,  except  on  each 
other ;  and  my  own  impression  is,  that  even  if  some  oi 
them  who  are  on  the  war-path  should  capture  our 
friends,  it  would  only  be  with  the  design  and  result  of 
claiming  a  suitable  compensation  for  their  release. 

"  Besides,  as  I  understand  it,  they  have  a  good  guide, 
a  peaceable  Indian  ;  and  as  he  will  be  well  paid,  he  will 
use  all  his  skill  to  carry  them  safely  through.  Then, 
of  course,  they  must  ultimately  find  Boone  and  his 
companions  and  Harry  Calvert.  A  party  so  large  as 
they  would  then  become,  would,  I  suspect,  be  secure 
against  any  ordinary  attack." 

"  What  you  say  is  very  consoling,"  observed  the 
Squire,  "  and  I  do  not  see  but  what  it  is  reasonable. 
At  all  events,  it  can  not  now  be  many  weeks  before  we 


DANIEL  BOON'S.  2gj 

shall  hear  from  them,  as  I  understand  Boc  ne's  brother, 
having  succeeded  in  overtaking  him,  returned  to  obtain 
ammunition  and  other  things  which  he  required,  and 
has  again  gone  out  in  search  of  him.  What  he  could 
venture  to  do  alone,  and  could  succeed  in  doing,  it  does 
seem  to  me  as  if  our  friends  might  also  accomplish." 

The  conversation  which  we  have  related  took  place 
early  in  the  Fall  of  17/1,  while  the  two  were  riding 
about  the  estate  ;  the  Squire  giving  directions  to  his 
hands,  from  time  to  time,  as  he  met  them,  and  gener 
ally  overlooking  the  crops  and  the  progress  of  his  farm 
ing  operations. 

Having  concluded  what  was  necessary  in  this  direc 
tion  for  the  day,  the  two  gentlemen  turned,  and  di 
rected  their  horses'  steps  toward  the  house,  slowly  am 
bling  along,  and  continuing  to  speak  on  the  subject 
which  was  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  both  of  them. 

They  had  crossed  the  bridge  and  entered  the  drive, 
when  their  attention  became  directed  toward  a  move 
ment  on  the  piazza,  which  seemed  to  signify  the  arrival 
of  strangers.  Lady  O'Brien  could  be  seen,  with  several 
of  the  persons  who  were  visiting  her  standing  about, 
she  being  apparently  engaged  in  conversation  with  a 
poorly-dressed  woman  who  was  seated  on  the  piazza 
steps,  and  had  by  her  side  a  young  boy. 

As  the  Squire  and  Dr.  Bullock  rode  up  to  the  piazza, 
her  Ladyship  called  out  to  her  husband  : 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come ;  something  has  occurred 
about  which  I  want  to  consult  you." 

The   two  gentlemen  dismounted,  and   their   horses 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

being  led  around  to  the  stable  by  one  of  the  boys 
about  the  place,  both  drew  near  to  the  group  on  the 
piazza.  The  woman  rose  from  her  sitting  posture  and 
bowed  to  the  gentlemen,  and  Lady  O'Brien,  who  held 
what  appeared  to  be  a  letter  in  her  hand,  said  : 

"  This  woman's  name  is  Brownell,  and  this  is  her  son. 
She  has  traveled  fifteen  miles  to-day  on  foot  to  bring 
this  letter,  which  has  been  sent  from  Hillsborough,  and 
is  addressed  to  her  husband.  It  appears  from  what  she 
says,  that  her  husband  set  out  recently,  with  the  inten 
tion  of  going  into  the  woods,  and  announcing  that  he 
meant  to  find  Daniel  Boone  and  his  companions,  and 
join  them  in  their  exploration,  about  which  he  had 
heard  down  in  Hillsborough.  Having  understood  that 
some  of  our  friends  were  with  Boone's  party,  although 
in  that  she  is  mistaken  " 

"  Not  necessarily  so,"  interrupted  the  Squire. 

Lady  O'Brien  paid  no  attention  to  this  remark,  but 
went  on  : 

"  She  has  come  here  to  endeavor  to  learn  by  what 
means  this  letter,  which'  is  marked  '  important,'  and  '  in 
haste,'  could  be  forwarded  to  her  husband.  I  presume 
you  will  like  to  talk  to  her,  and  I  will  turn  her  over  to 
your  hands." 

Accordingly,  Lady  O'Brien  gave  the  letter  in  ques 
tion  to  the  Squire,  and  turning  on  her  heels,  dropped 
the  subject,  and  joined  her  guests,  a  little  piqued  at 
the  dissent  which  her  husband  had  expressed  from  her 
doubt  with  regard  to  the  possible  union  of  DanieJ 
Boone  and  the  party  in  search  of  him. 


DANIEL  BOONR.  283 

The  Squire,  as  was  natural  to  him,  first  devoted  him 
self  to  the  consideration  of  the  probable  condition  ol 
Mrs.  Brownell,  after  her  long  and  wearisome  journey. 

'*  You  must  be  tired  and  hungry,"  he  said  to  her, 
kindly.  "  I  will  have  one  of  the  maids  take  you  around 
to  the  kitchen,  where  you  can  get  something  to  eat. 
and  can  rest  yourself ;  and  after  you  feel  thoroughly  re. 
cruited,  send  word  to  me,  and  I  will  be  glad  to  see  you. 
In  the  meantime,  I  will  take  charge  of  this  letter." 

The  woman  expressed  her  thanks,  and  the  Squire, 
calling  one  of  the  negro  girls,  sent  her  with  her  son  to 
be  taken  care  of  by  the  butler. 

The  Squire  now  proceeded  to  his  chamber  to  dress 
for  dinner;  having  concluded  which,  he  went  to  the 
library,  where  he  was  presently  informed  by  the  serv 
ant  that  Mrs.  Brownell  had  eaten  a  substantial  meal, 
and  was  now  rested,  and  ready  to  await  his  pleasure. 
He  accordingly  sent  for  her,  and  on  her  entering  the 
library,  courteously  offered  her  a  seat. 

"  This  letter  is  from  Hillsborough,  you  say,"  he  ob 
served,  lifting  it  from  the  table  before  him,  and  look 
ing  at  the  superscription. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  I  think  I  know  who  it  is  from." 

"  That  is  none  of  my  business,"  began  the  Squire, 
but  he  was  interrupted  by  the  woman,  who  proceeded. 

"  It  is  no  secret,  sir.  I  am  quite  sure  the  letter  is 
from  Stephen  Roberts,  a  lawyer  in  Hillsborough,  that 
my  husband  has  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  in  the 
last  two  or  three  years — more,  indeed,  than  I  think 
has  been  good  for  him," 


284  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMZS  OF 

"  I  have  lieard  of  this  Stephen  Roberts,"  observed 
the  Squire ;  "  he  is  suspected  of  being  one  of  an  organi 
zation  called  Regulators,  I  believe ;  but  so  far  as  I 
know  this  has  never  been  proved,  and  he  bears  the  rep 
utation  of  being  a  man  of  ability,  with  nothing  partic 
ular  against  him." 

"  He  has  got  ability  enough ;  but  as  to  there  being 
nothing  agin  him,  I  ain't  so  sure ;  anyhow,  he  has  got 
my  husband  under  his  thumb,  so  that  the  man  has  neg 
lected  his  farm,  and  left  us  to  pull  along  the  best  way 
we  can,  and  it  is  hard  enough,  I  assure  you,  while  he  is 
goin'  over  the  country  doin'  the  biddin*  of  this  Stephen 
Roberts.  I  never  saw  the  man,  but  I  don't  like  him 
any  the  better  for  that." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Squire,  "  I  am  sorry  that  you  have 
reason  to  think  he  has  been  the  cause  of  any  injury  to 
you ;  though  as  I  don't  know  your  husband,  I  can't  tell 
whether  he  can  not  be  to  blame  himself." 

"That  is  all  right,  Squire;  William  never  was  much 
of  a  farmer,  but  he  was  a  good-hearted  man,  and  work 
ed  around  pretty  well  until  he  got  in  with  them  Regu 
lators  and  this  man  Roberts.  Since  then  he  has  been 
good  for  little  or  nothin'.  He  gets  money,  though  what 
for,  I  don't  know,  and  don't  care  to  know ;  it  is  for  no 
good,  I  will  wager  ;  but  there  is  very  little  sight  of  his 
money  me  and  his  children  gets.  He  spends  the  most 
of  it  where  he  gets  it,  down  in  Hillsborough,  drinking 
and  carousing  at  the  tavern  with  them  Regulators; 
whs  might  better  regulate  themselves,  than  try  to  set 
t'-.e  world  straight." 


DANIEL  BOONE.  285 

"  Very  well,  my  good  woman,"  said  the  Squire,  as  a 
pause  in  her  voluble  speech  gave  him  an  opportunity, 
"in  what  way  can  I  serve  you  at. present?" 

"  Well,  sir,  you  see  William  has  had  letters  from 
Stephen  Roberts  before,  and  I  know  he  is  awful  partic 
ular  about  them,  and  generally  they  tell  him  to  start  off 
on  some  expedition  or  other.  I  don't  vally  Stephen 
Roberts'  orders  a  pin's  worth,  but  if  my  William  should 
miss  gettin*  one  of  them  he  would  be  rearing  mad,  and 
he  ain't  altogether  a  comfortable  man  to  get  along  with 
when  he  is  in  that  condition.  So  when  I  hearn  tell 
that  your  daughter  and  some  of  your  folks  had  gone 
off  after  this  Mr.  Daniel  Boone,  I  concluded  that  you 
might  have  some  way  of  sending  this  letter  to  my  hus 
band,  s'posin'  that  he  had  jined  them." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  to  be  the  case  ?  "  asked  the 
Squire. 

"  Well,  yes,"  she  replied,  hesitatingly ;  "  if  he  is  gone 
after  Boone  or  anybody  else  in  the  woods,  he  will  come 
up  to  him.  There  ain't  no  better  backwoodsman 
around  those  parts  than  William  Brownell,  if  I  do  say 
it." 

"  You  say  if  he  has  gone  after  Boone.  Have  you  any 
doubts  about  it  ?  " 

"Well,  I  hev,  and  I  hevn't.  You  see,  Squire,  when 
William  is  attendin'  to  these  things  about  the  Regula 
tors,  he  ain't  altogether  probable  to  speak  the  truth,  if 
he  is  questioned,  and  as  a  rule  I  don't  question  him. 
Then  it  seems  to  me  as  if  Stephen  Roberts  ought  to 
know  where  he  is,  most  as  well  and  perhaps  better  as  * 


286  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

would  cos  he  has  had  the  directing  of  him  for  a  long 
time.  Still  Roberts  may  hev  sent  him  off  himself,  and 
there  might  be  some  mistake  about  the  time  of  his 
goin'." 

The  Squire  looked  surprised.  "What  would  this 
man  Roberts  send  your  husband  out  to  join  Boone 
for?"  he  asked. 

"  Well,  that  is  what  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  hev  heard 
William  name  the  two  together  a  good  many  times, 
and  I  hev  heard  him  speak  of  Judge  Anderson  in  the 
same  breath.  So  I  kind  of  put  the  three  together ;  but 
I  am  nothing  but  an  or'nary  woman,  and  can  not  con 
clude  on  these  matters  as  you  can." 

The  Squire  was  silent  for  a  moment,  while  he  re- 
Hected. 

There  seemed  to  be  something  like  a  mystery  in  all 
this,  and  if  there  was  any  one  thing  that  Squire  O'Brien 
hated  more  than  another,  it  was  mystery. 

While  it  might  well  be  that  Boone's  connection  with 
Judge  Anderson  had  got  noised  about  in  Hillsborough, 
he  could  not  understand  why  it  should  be  a  matter  of 
interest  to  Stephen  Roberts,  whom  he  knew  to  be  not 
only  a  man  of  ability,  as  he  had  said,  but  also  shrewd, 
calculating,  and  uncompromising  in  his  conduct  of  any 
operation  he  took  in  hand. 

He  had  also  understood,  though  he  had  not  cared  to 
express  this  opinion  to  Mrs.  Brownell,  that  Roberts 
was  not  altogether  faultless  in  his  character,  nor  entirely 
unconnected  with  the  serious  troubles  which  had  been 
originated  by  the  Regulators,  He  remembered,  too, 


DANIEL  BOONE.  287 

against  him  the  suspicions  formed  by  Harry  Calvert,  as 
to  his  possible  complication  with  the  abduction  ol 
Boone.  Altogether,  he  began  to  suspect  that  this  con 
nection  of  Brownell  and  Roberts,  and  of  both  together, 
with  Boone,  and  with  his  own  daughter  and  friends, 
were  matters  of  serious  importance,  and  would  beai 
grave  consideration. 

After  a  moment's  thought  his  mind  was  made  up  for 
the  present,  and  turning  to  Mrs.  Brownell,  he  said  : 

"  Well,  my  good  woman,  I  will  take  the  responsibil 
ity  of  keeping  this  letter,  if  you  have  no  objection,  and 
will  try  and  forward  it  to  your  husband.  I  think  that 
before  long,  if  we  do  not  hear  something  of  our  friends 
who  have  gone  out  in  search  of  Daniel  Boone,  I  shall 
go  myself  or  send  somebody  out  to  discover  the  facts 
with  regard  to  the  safety  of  my  daughter." 

The  woman  rose,  and  heaving  a  sigh  as  if  of  relief, 
said : 

"  I  am  sure,  sir,  that  it  is  very  kind  in  you  to  take 
care  of  the  letter  and  to  give  yourself  so  much  trouble. 
I  am  glad  to  get  rid  of  the  thing,  for  it  has  been  frettin 
me  most  to  death  ever  since  I  got  it,  which  will  be  a 
week  to-morrow.  You  see  it  took  me  some  time  to  fix 
things  so  that  I  might  leave." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Squire,  "  we  will  consider  this 
matter  settled,  then  ;  you  will  stay  here  to-night,  and  ii 
the  morning  I  will  send  one  of  the  men  to  take  you 
home  in  a  wagon." 

The  woman  flushed  at  this  evidence  of  kindness  on 
the  part  of  the  Squire,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears 


288        LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  DANIEL  BOONE. 

Grasping  his  extended  hand  she  pressed  it  warmly  in  her 
own,  at  the  same  time  thanking  him  for  saving  her  the 
labor  and  time  involved  in  undertaking  on  foot  hef 
long  journey  home. 

Mrs.  Brownell  was  accordingly  taken  care  of  for  the 
rest  of  the  day  and  night,  and  on  the  following  morn. 
ing  was  sent  off  in  accordance  with  the  promise  of  the 
Squire ;  she  and  her  son  being  driven  away  in  a  wagon 
in  charge  of  one  of  the  negroes  about  the  place. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

la  which  Judge  Anderson  and  Squire  O'Brien  conclude  to  go  West  to  look  aftei 
their  several  interests  ;  and  the  Reader  is  permitted  to  assist  at  the  liscussion 
of  a  communication  which  recalls  the  suggestion  that  "the  evil  that  men 
do  lives  after  them." 

THE  mystery  which  Squire  O'Brien  dimly  discerned 
in  his  latest  adventure — the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Brownell  at 
the  great  house,  and  the  purport  of  her  mission — this 
waxed  more  mysterious  still,  as  the  Squire  gave  it  such 
examination  as  he  might.  So  important  a  place  did  it 
at  length  assume  in  his  mind,  that  he  decided,  despite 
the  present  mood  of  Lady  O'Brien,  to  confer  with  her 
concerning  it.  He  accordingly  availed  himself  of  the 
first  opportunity  and  opened  the  question  to  her. 

Lady  O'Brien  listened  quietly  to  his  relation  of  his 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Brownell.  Having  absorbed 
all  the  information  that  was  to  be  had,  she  calmly 
declined  to  entertain  the  question  in  any  aspect,  saying 
as  she  did  so : 

"  I  shall  leave  Mistress  Maude  and  her  affairs  in  your 
hands  ;  I  wash  mine  of  both." 

This  interview  between  the  Squire  and  his  wife, 
which,  as  may  be  judged,  was  a  very  brief  one,  had  taken 
place  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  of  Mrs.  Brownell's 
departure  homeward,  in  the  drawing-room,  where  the 


290  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

two  chanced  to  meet.  After  his  wife  had  left  the 
room,  the  Squire  stood  before  the  window  cogitating, 
when  he  observed  three  travelers  on  horseback  coming 
up  the  road  toward  the  house. 

After  watching  them  for  a  moment,  and  not  discov 
ering  who  they  were,  the  Squire  went  out  on  the  piazza 
to  meet  them.  As  they  drew  near  he  seemed  to  recog 
nize  the  foremost  cavalier,  a  stout,  fine-looking  gentle 
man,  and  in  a  few  moments  he  discovered  that  this  was 
no  other  than  his  old  friend  Judge  Anderson. 

Hastening  to  greet  and  welcome  one  whom  he  likei 
so  much,  and  for  whom  he  felt  such  profound  respect 
he  was  received  no  less  cordially  by  the  Judge,  who^ 
introducing  his  two  companions,  younger  men  than 
himself,  as  friends  from  Granville  County,  alighted, 
and  the  three  were  invited  by  the  Squire  into  the 
drawing-room. 

Preparations  for  entertaining  the  new-comers  were 
at  once  ordered,  though  Judge  Anderson  deprecated 
any  extra  trouble  on  his  account,  declaring  that  he 
could  only  remain  for  a  brief  time,  and  that  he  had 
come  to  see  the  Squire  on  business  of  some  im 
portance. 

He  and  his  friends  were,  however,  introduced  to 
Lady  O'Brien  and  her  guests,  and  all  three  were  at 
once  made  to  promise  that  they  would  remain  over  at 
least  for  one  or  two  days. 

At  the  first  opportunity  the  Judge  indicated  his  de 
sire  to  make  a  private  communication  to  Squire  O'Brien, 
and  the  two  were  presently  alone  together,  in  the  \i- 


bANIEL  BOONS.  2Q! 

brary,  which,  as  has  been  before  suggested,  was  the 
Squire's  sanctum,  and  whither  he  always  retired  to 
discuss  any  important  question  or  meet  any  emergency 
requiring  reflection.  He  soon  learned  that  there  was 
sufficient  in  Judge  Anderson's  communication  to  oc 
cupy  all  his  attention  and  arouse  all  his  interest. 

Premising,  by  asking  for  the  latest  news  from  Boone 
and  his  party,  the  Judge  was  astounded  at  the  state 
ment  that  was  made  by  Squire  O'Brien.  To  begin  with, 
he  now  karned  for  the  first  time  that  Boone's  brother, 
on  his  return  from  his  first  visit  to  the  woods,  had 
brought  back  tidings  that  he  had  found  Daniel  Boone 
alone,  and  that  the  latter  was  accompanied  by  Harry 
Calvert,  all  his  original  companions  having  been  either 
lost  in  the  woods  during  their  journey,  or  slain  by  the 
Indians.  The  particulars  of  Harry's  departure  in  search 
of  Boone,  which  it  thus  appeared  had  attained  its  ob 
ject,  were  then  made  known  to  Judge  Anderson  ;  to 
gether  with  those  regarding  the  enterprise  of  Maude 
O'Brien  and  her  companions,  who  had  set  forth  on 
their  expedition  in  the  latter  part  of  the  previous  June. 
The  Judge  thus  became  informed  of  the  exact  situation 
of  affairs  so  far  as  they  were  known  to  Squire  O'Brien, 
and,  for  the  first  time,  knew  all  the  occurrences  which 
had  prevented  his  secretary  from  exactly  carrying  out 
his  directions. 

After  listening  to  all  that  the  Squire  had  to  relate, 
the  Judge  began  his  story,  or  so  much  of  it  as  he 
deemed  it  necessary  to  disclose  at  the  present  juncture. 
He  informed  the  Squire  of  the  death  of  Stephen  Rob- 


392  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OP 

erts,  but  merely  as  though  it  were  a  piece  of  general 
news,  interesting  to  him  through  the  slight  connection 
which  that  personage  had  had  with  Harry  Calvert. 

He  did  not  refer  to  any  of  the  details  of  his  inter, 
view  with  Roberts  ;  and  indeed  it  was  his  fixed  deter 
inination  to  retain  the  secret  history  of  that  interview 
and  of  the  knowledge  possessed  by  himself  which  had 
brought  it  about,  closely  locked  up  in  the  secret  re 
cesses  of  his  own  brain.  But  as  the  main  object  of  his 
present  visit  was  to  obtain  the  assurance  of  the  safety 
of  Rafe  Slaughter,  he  did  not  consider  it  improper  to 
allude  to  so  much  of  the  knowledge  he  possessed  of 
Roberts'  transactions,  as  would  facilitate  his  enlighten 
ment  on  this  score. 

"  I  suppose  you  know,"  he  said  to  the  Squire,  "  that 
Roberts'  character  was  not  considered  to  be  any  of  the 
best,  although  there  had  been  nothing  definite  ever 
brought  against  him." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  have  always  had  a  gen 
eral  impression  of  that  kind.  From  time  to  time  I 
learned  of  his  supposed  connection  with  the  Regula 
tors,  and  I  always  believed  that  he  instigated  the  riot 
at  Hillsborough,  and  that  he  was  concerned  in  the  ab 
duction  of  Boone ;  though  why  he  should  have  gone 
to  so  much  trouble  and  apparent  risk  to  carry  out  the 
latter  purpose,  I  never  could  imagine." 

"  These  questions  are  all  explicable,"  remarked  the 
Judge ;  "  but  the  man  is  dead,  and  there  is  no  use  in 
our  wasting  time  in  calling  up  the  acts  of  his  past  life. 
What  I  am  most  interested  in  at  present  is  the  acts, 


DANIEL  BOONE.  293 

which  it  appears  to  me,  he  may  still  be  in  a  position  to 
commit  through  his  instruments." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  said  the  Squire,  as  his  mind 
reverted  to  the  letter  given  him  by  Mrs.  Brownell,  and 
which  was  safely  reposing  in  a  drawer  in  the  table  on 
which  he  leaned. 

"  Yes,"  pursued  Judge  Anderson,  "  this  man  indi 
cated  to  me  during  our  last  conversation,  in  which  I 
may,  without  impropriety,  observe,  that  he  was  very 
frank  and  open  ;  he  intimated  that  he  had  made  ar 
rangements  and  started  a  train  of  circumstances  which 
would  eventually  result  in  some  catastrophe  to  some 
body. 

"  His  sudden  death  intervening,  prevented  any  ex 
planation  on  his  part  of  the  nature  or  details  of  this 
enterprise,  but  I  gathered  sufficient  concerning  it  to 
cause  me  a  great  deal  of  uneasiness  ;  and  on  reflection 
I  determined  to  set  out,  and  with  such  slight  clues  as 
I  possessed,  endeavor  to  prevent  the  execution  of  his 
intentions. 

"  Without  going  into  particulars,  I  will  say  that  the 
best  understanding  I  could  bestow  on  the  whole  mat 
ter  led  me  to  believe  that  the  object  of  his  design  was 
the  person  of  my  secretary,  Rafe  Slaughter,  whom  I 
think  (to  speak  plainly)  he  intended  to  have  put  out  of 
the  way." 

"  Good  God  ! "  cried  the  Squire,  "  you  don't  mean 
to  say  he  intended  to  have  him  murdered  ?" 

"  My  dear  friend,  Stephen  Roberts  is  dead,  and  I 
could  certainly  have  no  wish  to  defame  his  character, 


LIFE  AND  TIMES  OP 

or  misrepresent  his  intentions  ;  on  the  contrary,  my 
inclination  is  to  protect  him  as  far  as  I  can  with  jus 
tice  to  others ;  and  I  will  observe  that  I  do  not  believe 
the  man  was  willfully  wicked. 

"  He  was  terribly  mistaken  and  misled,  his  judgment 
clouded,  and  his  opinions  biased  and  prejudiced,  and 
all  this  resulted  in  making  him  morally  a  monstrous 
creation,  capable  of  committing  a  great  deal  of  terrible 
evil. 

"  I  need  not  go  through  the  process  of  reasoning  by 
which  I  arrived  at  my  present  opinions,  but  I  can 
assure  you  that  they  are  fixed,  and  I  am  almost  post 
tive  that  he  had  some  nefarious  purpose  in  his  mina 
which  he  had  already  partially  executed,  and  which  is 
still  being  carried  out,  and  that  the  object  of  his  pur 
pose  was  some  evil  disposition  of  Rafe  Slaughter." 

The  Squire  had  been  nervously  tapping  with  his  fin 
gers  on  the  table  beside  him,  his  whole  manner  exhibit 
ing  disturbance  and  irritation. 

Indeed,  the  unexpected  presentment  of  a  further 
complication  of  the  mysterious  circumstances  which 
had  already  annoyed  him,  was  beginning  to  tell  upon 
his  equanimity,  and  he  could  hardly  wait  for  his  friend's 
concluding  words  to  disclose  what  he  knew,  and  which 
he  had  begun  to  think  might  have  some  bearing  on 
Judge  Anderson's  theories. 

Opening  the  drawer  where  the  letter  lay  which  had 
been  given  to  him  by  Mrs.  Brownell,  he  withdrew  it,  and 
showed  it  to  Judge  Anderson  ;  explaining  briefly  the 
manner  in  which  it  had  fallen  into  his  hands  The 


DANIEL  BOONE.  2^1 

Judge,  after  looking  at  the  superscription  a  moment, 
said  : 

"  I  know  that  writing  ;  it  is  Stephen  Roberts'.  I 
have  known  something  about  this  man  Brownell,  too, 
and  have  seen  him  often.  He  bears  the  appearance  of 
a  plain,  honest  farmer,  not  particularly  intelligent,  and 
not  at  all  that  of  one  who  would  be  suspected  of  being 
concerned  in  a  plot  against  a  man's  life  or  property. 

"  But  I  have  my  own  sources  of  information,  as  well 
as  Stephen  R  oberts  had  his,  and  I  know  Brownell's 
honest  appearance  belies  the  character  of  the  man. 

"  He  has  kept  away  from  our  part  of  the  country  for 
a  good  while — in  fact,  ever  since  the  Hillsborough  riot, 
in  which  he  was  prominent,  and  where  to  my  certain 
knowledge  he  was  one  of  the  first  to  act,  and  was  the 
prime  mover  in  the  attempt  to  hang  one  of  my  officials, 
Sheriff  Caleb  Glennie. 

"  He  is  a  thoroughly  bad  man,  without  any  moral 
restraint  of  any  kind  ;  I  think  he  would  not  hesitate  at 
any  crime  which  it  was  made  to  his  interest  to  commit. 
It  seems  to  me,  Squire,  that  in  this  letter  we  must  have 
an  important  clue  to  the  secret  intentions  of  Stephen 
Roberts." 

"  It  does  look  that  way,  certainly,"  said  the  other ; 
"  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  when  the  letter  was  given 
to  me,  it  assumed  sufficient  importance  in  my  mind 
for  me  to  think  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  suppress  it, 
at  least  temporarily." 

"  You  did  well ;  and  although  I  don't  approve  of  in- 
V/ldinsr  the  snnrtitv  of  n  irvin's  private  correspondence 


296  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

still,  in  these  circumstances,  and  considering  the  char 
acter  of  the  two  men,  I  am  almost  inclined  to  recom 
mend  that  this  letter  should  be  opened,  and  that  w< 
ihould  acquaint  ourselves  with  its  contents." 

The  Squire  looked  startled  at  this  proposition. 

With  his  high  sense  of  •  honor,  to  tamper  with  a 
sealed  letter  was  to  break  the  most  solemn  obligation 
between  men.  It  appeared  to  him  that  such  a  com- 
municatiotv,  by  its  utter  unguardedness  and  dependence 
on  the  integrity  of  those  through  whose  hands  it  should 
pass,  appealed  warmly  to  the  most  sacred  instincts  of 
the  human  heart.  It  was  like  shooting  an  unarmed 
man,  or  striking  'o  death  one  who  slept  in  one's  house, 
reposing  confidence  in  his  hospitality. 

The  Judge  saw  the  effect  of  his  words,  and  hastened 
to  strengthen  his  suggestion  by  such  arguments  as  oc 
curred  to  him.  Strongly  impressed  himself  by  the  ne 
cessities  of  the  case,  and  that  the  emergency  required 
speedy  action,  he  succeeded  at  length  in  overcoming 
the  scruples  of  his  friend  ;  the  more  so,  perhaps,  that  he 
undertook  the  entire  responsibility  of  the  act  himself. 

The  two  having  agreed  upon  this,  Judge  Anderson 
broke  the  letter,  opened  it,  and  read  as  follows : 

"  WILLIAM  BROWNELL  : 

"  On  receipt  of  this,  if  you  have  not  already  carried 
out  the  purpose  I  indicated  to  you  at  our  meeting,  you  will 
at  once  do  so.  The  articles  I  named  to  you  are  to  be  han 
dled  as  follows  :  No.  I  is  to  be  destroyed,  that  you  may 
better  take  care  of  Np.  2.  Remember  '  seven,'  two  of 


DANIEL  BOONE.  29} 

which  are  already  gone.  Use  any  means  you  like,  but 
take  care  of  your  own  safety.  When  this  is  done  com* 
municate  with  me" 

There  was  no  signature,  but  the  letter  was  at  once 
recognized  by  Judge  Anderson  to  be  throughout  in  the 
handwriting  of  Stephen  Roberts. 

When  he  had  finished  reading  it  aloud,  he  looked 
at  the  Squire,  who  sat  with  a  dazed  expression,  gazing 
straight  before  him.  The  Judge  immediately  returned 
to  the  letter,  and  read  it  aloud  again  slowly,  and  em 
phasizing  carefully  each  word  as  he  went  along,  in  order 
that  the  special  value  of  each  of  these,  if  there  should 
be  any,  might  appear.  When  he  had  concluded  he 
folded  the  letter,  and  for  a  moment  said  nothing  ;  then 
he  looked  up  and  remarked  : 

"  Can  you  make  anything  out  of  that,  O'Brien  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least,"  said  the  other.  "  It  appears  to  be 
a  jumble  of  numbers  which  can  have  no  meaning,  ex 
cept  to  the  two  persons  interested." 

"  Unless  I  mistake,"  rejoined  Judge  Anderson,  "  they 
have  a  meaning  of  great  interest  to  two  or  three  per 
sons,  but  as  to  who  they  are,  I  am  now  more  in  the  dark 
than  ever.  But  one  purpose  has  been  strengthened  in 
my  mind  by  reading  this  letter,  and  that  is  that  I  am 
determined  to  go  on  and  find  Rafe  Slaughter,  if  he  is 
on  earth,  and  disclose  the  real  meaning  of  this  con 
spiracy. 

"  You  see,  Squire,  as  Brownell's  wife  connected  me 
both    her    husband    and    his    master,    and    saj<J 
'3* 


298  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

moi  cover,  that  Brovvnell  himself  had  gone  off  t<s 
join  Boone — and  he  must  have  known  who  his  com- 
panions  were — why,  all  of  this  points  directly  toward 
my  own  conclusions.  I  have  made  up  my  mind."  he 
added,  rising,  "  that  I  will  do  what  I  set  out  from  home 
intending  to  do." 

"  And  that  is  ?  "  asked  the  Squire. 

"  To  take  my  two  companions  with  me,  and  go  out 
and  find  our  friends,  wherever  they  may  be." 

"  And  by  the  Lord  Harry,  I  will  go  with  you  !  "  cried 
the  Squire,  and  he  jumped  from  his  chair  and  grasped 
the  other  warmly  by  the  hand,  as  if  to  clinch  the  bar 
gain. 

"  I  am  sick  of  all  this  waiting  and  wondering,  and 
Jow  that  there  is  so  much  that  we  can  not  explain 
mixed  up  with  this,  I  know  that  if  I  remain  here  I  shall 
be  worried  out  of  my  life. 

"  I  will  make  my  preparations  to  join  you,  and  we 
will  set  forth  as  soon  as  you  please.  Four  will  be  bet 
ter  than  three,  in  case  there  should  be  any  trouble  with 
anybody,  and  by  this  time  it  may  be  that  the  party  of 
our  friends  might  need  strengthening,  though  I  hope 
to  Heaven  this  will  not  prove  to  be  the  case." 

The  two  now  left  the  library,  and  as  they  reached 
the  hall  the  Squire  turned  round  and  said  to  his  friend, 
in  a  low  tone  : 

"  My  Ladj  r'ill  think  I  am  crazy,  and  I  guess  will  not 
hesitate  to  say  so." 

"  It  does  look  a  little  out  of  the  common,"  responded 
the  Judge,  laughing,  '•  that  so  many  of  us  shoqld  start 


•DANIEL  BOONS, 

off  from  your  house,  in  different  parties,  one  going  into 
the  woods  after  the  other,  without  any  apparent  object 
of  sufficient  moment  to  induce  them  to  do  so.  I  could 
hardly  blame  her  Ladyship,  if  she  thought  that  the 
whole  of  us  were  demented,  excepting  Boone,  for,  of 
course,  that  is  his  trade." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Squire,  "  it  is  like  firing  arrows  into 
the  air  one  after  the  other,  without  aim,  in  hopes  that 
the  last  one  will  find  the  rest." 


CHAPTER   XX. 

ID  which  Daniel  Boone  and  Harry  reappear,  and  the  hunter  quot«  Scripture. 
The  casting  of  the  bread  of  kindness  upon  the  waters  of  accident,  is  amorg 
the  seed  planted  in  the  wilderness,  to  bring  forth  fruit  "  after  many  days ->; 
and,  Squire  Boone  having  kept  his  appointment,  the  chain  of  events  goes 
on  unfolding;. 

"  I  AM  richer  than  the  man  mentioned  in  the  Script 
ires,  who  owned  the  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills.  I  own 
.he  wild  beasts  of  more  than  a  thousand  valleys." 

The  speaker  was  leaning  on  his  rifle,  gazing  upon  a 
scene  that  would  have  awakened  reflection  in  the  mind 
of  the  most  inattentive  observer  of  natural  beauty.  He 
stood  upon  the  brow  of  a  hill,  which,  sloping  down 
many  hundred  feet,  overlooked  a  broad  stream  flowing 
to  the  southwest  through  a  fertile  valley  sparsely 
wooded,  whose  extensive  plains  were  to  be  seen  al 
most  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

On  these  plains  immense  herds  of  buffalo  were  graz 
ing.  The  air  had  the  crisp,  sharp  vitality  of  early  au 
tumn,  and  the  trees,  which  had  begun  to  turn,  gave  a 
variety  of  hue  to  the  color  of  the  landscape,  which  wa.« 
beyond  anything  imaginable,  vivid  and  brilliant. 

In  the  distant  east  could  be  seen  the  towering  sum 
mits  of  the  Cumberland  mountains.  It  was  a  magnifi 
cent  view,  and  there  is  little  wonder  that  Daniel  Boone, 

though  experienced  in  such  sights,  should  have  given 
(300) 


DANTF.L  BOONE.  301 

vent  to  the  exclamatory  outburst  which  begins  this 
chapter. 

Boone  had  but  little  changed  in  appearance.  He 
was,  perhaps,  a  trifle  thinner  and  a  little  more  bronzed, 
but  his  form  was  as  erect,  athletic,  and  sinewy,  and  his 
hazel  eye  as  bright  and  piercing  as  when  we  first  intro 
duced  him  to  the  reader. 

He  was  clad  in  a  hunting- shirt,  loosely  made,  of 
dressed  deerskin,  with  leggings  of  the  same  material, 
and  had  on  his  feet  a  pair  of  moccasins.  The  collar  of 
his  hunting-shirt  and  the  seams  of  his  leggings  were  or 
namented  with  fringe.  Around  his  waist  he  wore  a 
leather  belt,  from  which  was  suspended  on  the  right 
side  a  tomahawk,  and  on  the  left  his  hunting-knife,  bul 
let-pouch,  and  powder-horn. 

Beside  him,  seated  on  a  fallen  tree,  was  a  young 
man,  sun-burned  and  heavily-bearded,  in  whom  his 
friends  would  have  had  some  difficulty  in  recognizing 
the  rather  foppishly-dressed  Harry  Calvert  as  he  ap 
peared  when  in  attendance  upon  his  cousin  at  Mount 
Mourne. 

He  was  evidently,  however,  in  perfect  health,  his  frame 
showing  increased  muscular  strength  ;  and  though  or 
dinarily  somewhat  stout  in  his  proportions,  his  long 
pilgrimage  and  constant  exercise  in  the  unrestrained 
freedom  of  the  wilderness,  had  brought  him  to  s:ich  a 
state  that  there  did  not  appear  to  be  a  superfluous 
ounce  of  flesh  about  him. 

He  sat  resting  his  chin  on  his  hand  and  his  elbow 
on  his  knee,  his  rifle  beside  him,  and  gazed  off  into 


302  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

the  distance,  as  though  absorbed  in  the  magnificent 
prospect  afforded  him. 

Turning  to  his  companion,  he  said,  in  answer  to  the 
outburst  of  the  latter : 

"  Boone,  I  have  never  known  you  to  become  enthu. 
siastic  before;  and  besides,  I  was  not  aware  that  you 
were  so  familiar  with  the  Scriptures." 

The  other  laughed  a  short,  sharp  laugh,  as  he  said  : 

"  I  ain't  much  given  to  enthusiasm,  Mr.  Calvert. 
you're  right ;  but  I  s'pose  there's  a  soft  spot  in  all 
of  us ;  and  that  scene  with  all  those  buffalo  grazing 
there,  sort  o'  set  me  to  thinkin'  and  I  recalled  what  the 
man  said  in  the  Bible.  I  ain't  much  given  tp  quotin 
Scripture,  either,  but  that  come  kind  o'  pat.  I  guess, 
unless  it  was  the  ten  commandments,  I'd  have  work  to 
remember  another  passage." 

"  Well,  you  could  not  remember  one  more  applica 
ble,  if  you  knew  the  Bible  by  heart,"  said  Harry  ;  "  but 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  while  you  and  I  are  finding  so 
much  beauty  looking  westward,  I  must  say  the  attrac 
tion  for  me  lies  in  the  opposite  direction.  We  have 
seen  enough  of  the  western  country  in  the  last  two 
years  to  satisfy  me,  at  least,  until  I  come  to  settle  in  it ; 
and  now  all  my  mind  is  fixed  on  reaching  those  we  have 
left  behind  us." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  know  it  is  natural  for  you  to  feel  lone- 
some  after  so  long  a  trip,  when  you  are  not  accustomed 
to  it.  Now,  you  see,  with  me  it's,  different.  I  feel  more 
lonesome  when  I  am  at  home—though  J  wouldn't  care 

\Q  say  so  tQ  the  old  woman,'1 


DANIEL  BOONE. 

"  No,  and  she  wouldn't  care  to  have  you  ;  and,  aftei 
all,  Boone,  I  believe  you  would  like  to  meet  your  wife 

and  children  just  as  much  as  I  would  to  see  " here 

he  paused,  and  Boone  finished  the  sentence  for  him. 

"  Miss  O'Brien,"  he  said,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  Well,  yes,"  continued  Harry,  laughing,  "  that  about 
covers  it ;  though  I  would  like  to  see  Uncle  Hugh  and 
Tom  Hardeman  ;  yes,  and  that  curious  compound  and 
noble  fellow,  Rafe  Slaughter.  I  suppose  they  are  all 
together  somewhere.  And,  by  the  way,"  he  added, 
more  energetically,  "  where  do  you  suppose  they  are 
about  now?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  told  my  brother,  when  he  went 
back  to  the  settlement,  to  give  them  our  trail,  and 
they  can  not  make  a  mistake  very  easy.  Anyhow,  he 
is  to  meet  us  about  two  days  from  now,  as  my  reckon 
ing  has  it,  and  not  more  than  a  day's  journey  from  this 
very  spot ;  and  when  we  see  him  we  will  know  more 
about  their  movements.  But  I  guess  I  have  looked  at 
the  buffalo  as  long  as  I  want  to,  and,  if  you  have  no 
objections,  we  may  as  well  be  moving." 

Harry  arose  with  alacrity,  and  throwing  his  rifle  over 
his  shoulder,  followed  Boone  into  the  woods. 

They  continued  their  march  through  the  day,  stop 
ping  only  at  noon  to  refresh  themselves  and  rest  for  a 
little  while,  and  by  nightfall  were  many  miles  away 
from  the  spot  where  they  had  halted  in  the  morning. 

Here  they  prepared  to  make  their  camp  for  the 
night,  and  while  Harry  was  busily  engaged  in  building 
the  fire,  Boone  started  into  the  bush  for  a  short  dis- 


tance,  with  the  intention  of  cutting  some  brush  to  make 
a  softer  place  than  the  ground  upon  which  to  repose 
for  the  night. 

He  was  at  work  at  this  operation  with  his  hunting, 
knife,  when  he  heard  a  smothered  cry  in  the  direction 
of  the  spot  where  he  had  left  his  companion. 

The  active  figure  of  the  hunter  covered  the  inter 
vening  space  in  a  moment,  and  he  sprang  upon  the 
scene — just  in  time  to  find  Harry  struggling  in  the 
grasp  of  a  powerful  young  Indian. 

This  was  a  situation  not  unfamiliar  to  Boone,  and  his 
capacity  to  cope  with  it  was  not  only  certain,  but  imme 
diate.  Rightly  judging  that  the  Indian  must  be  with 
out  companions,  since  they  never  attack  a  white  man 
singly  unless  forced  to  do  so,  he  determined  to  capture 
rather  than  to  kill  him. 

In  an  instant  he  had  thrown  his  muscular  arms 
about  the  Indian,  pinning  his  hands  to  his  sides  by  the 
act,  and  thus  forcing  him  to  release  Harry,  whom  he 
had  grasped  by  the  throat,  and  was  rapidly  bearing  to 
the  ground. 

The  Indian,  thus  unexpectedly  attacked  in  the  rear 
— for  he  had  not  seen  Boone,  and  supposed  that  Harry 
was  alone — fought  stubbornly  and  valiantly,  but  to  no 
purpose.  His  late  antagonist  being  released,  united 
his  efforts  to  those  of  Boone,  and  the  two  immediately 
threw  the  savage  to  the  ground,  where  the  hunter  quietly 
sat  upon  him,  holding  his  two  hands  tightly  grasped, 
while  Harry  sought  in  his  knapsack  for  a  piece  of  cord 
or  rope  with  which  to  tie  him. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  305 

This  was  immediately  accomplished,  and  then  Boone 
rising,  and  placing  his  captive  in  a  sitting  posture  lean 
ing  against  a  tree,  proceeded  to  interrogate  him. 

The  reader  would  have  at  once  recognized  the  sav 
age  as  the  one  who  had  made  his  escape  from  the 
party  of  eight  who  had  been  routed  by  the  courageous 
and  cunning  act  of  Rafe  Slaughter ;  but  to  Boone  and 
Harry  he  was,  of  course,  a  stranger. 

"  He  is  in  his  war-paint,"  said  Boone,  after  looking 
at  him  sharply  by  the  waning  twilight,  "  and  must  have 
strayed  from  his  party,  or  else  have  escaped  after  a 
fight." 

To  all  questioning,  the  Indian  at  first  opposed  con 
temptuous  silence  ;  but  when  Boone,  beginning  to  be 
exasperated,  and  understanding  fully  the  nature  of  these 
people,  quietly  picked  up  his  rifle  and  began  to  exam 
ine  the  priming,  he  changed  his  tactics. 

He  now  showed  that  he  could  speak  English  weL 
enough,  and  after  some  further  hesitation,  related  the 
circumstances  already  known  to  the  reader.     To  these 
he  addec  the  statement  that  he  had  been  wandering  , 
about,  searching  in  vain  for  the  large  body  of  the  tribe  i 
to  which  his  party  had  belonged,  and  that  he  was  still 
pushing  westward  in  the  hope  of  overtaking  them. 

When  he  came  upon  Harry,  as  he  assured  Boone,  he 
had  no  intention  of  hurting  him,  but  only  wanted  to 
get  his  rifle  and  ammunition,  as  he  was  nearly  starved, 
having  been  without  arms,  and  obliged  to  subsist  on 
herbs  and  roots  for  the  period  of  more  than  two 
Weeks  which  had  elapsed  sinco  Hie  fight.  After  furthef 


questioning  and  being  promised  his  freedom,  he  direct 
ed  the  two  explorers  to  the  spot  where  their  friends  had 
been  captured,  describing  this  with  such  accuracy  that 
Boone  made  up  his  mind  he  was  telling  the  truth. 

As  the  fellow  was  evidently  suffering  from  the  want  01 
animal  food  Boone  permitted  him  to  indulge  in  a  por 
tion  of  their  small  store  of  dried  venison  and  fried  pork, 
which  was  soon  emitting  a  fragrant  smell,  as  Harry 
proceeded  to  cook  it  over  the  fire,  which  was  now  light 
ed  and  burning  vigorously. 

The  Indian  ate  voraciously,  and,  after  his  own  fash 
ion,  seemed  to  experience  a  sense  of  gratitude  ;  but  as 
he  was  not  to  be  altogether  depended  upon,  the  rope 
which  had  been  untied  from  his  hands  to  permit  him  to 
feed  himself,  was  again  secured  beyond  any  possibility 
of  his  loosening  it,  and  he  was  left  on  the  ground  to 
take  what  comfort  he  might. 

Boone  and  Harry  took  turns  at  watching  and  sleep- 
ing  through  the  night,  and  early  in  the  morning,  after 
again  giving  the  Indian  a  sufficient  repast,  and  supply 
ing  i  little  food  to  carry  with  him,  untied  him  and 
told  him  he  was  free  to  go  whither  he  listed.  The  In 
dian,  who  had  hardly  believed  that  he  was  to  escape 
thus  easily,  shook  both  of  them  by  the  hands,  and  then 
with  a  parting  salutation  sped  away  into  the  forest. 

The  others  turned  their  steps  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion,  and  this  day  passed  like  the  one  preceding  it, 
bringing  them  at  its  close  to  the  point  at  which  Boone 
t.'.pccU'U  to  meet  his  brother. 

Here  they  took  possession  of  a  camp  which  had 


DANIEL  BOONE.  30? 

constructed  by  the  hunter  when  on  his  westward  jour- 
ney,  and  which  consisted  simply  of  a  few  logs  piled  up 
at  the  side  of  a  huge  tree  and  covered  over  with  the 
bark  of  the  linden,  making  a  shelter  nearly  in  the  form 
of  an  ordinary  tent,  in  front  of  which  the  fallen  trunk 
of  a  tree  answered  fora  back-log  for  the  fire. 

As  they  were  by  this  time  running  short  of  meat,  the 
two  passed  the  next  day  in  hunting  ;  and  their  camp  be 
ing  near  a  salt-lick,  and  also  only  a  few  hundred  yards 
from  the  bank  of  a  tributary  of  the  Louisa,  or  Ken 
tucky  River,  they  had  not  long  to  wait  for  game, 
They  succeeded  in  securing  a  fine  buck  that  had  come 
to  the  spring  to  lick  up  the  salt,  and  having  skinned 
and  cut  up  the  animal,  they  had  but  little  else  to  do 
than  to  wait. 

But  so  close  was  Squire  Boone  on  his  appointment 
that  at  dusk  on  the  second  day  after  their  encampment, 
he  made  his  appearance  mounted  on  a  horse  and  leading 
another  laden  with  ammunition,  besides  various  other 
articles  for  the  use  and  comfort  of  the  explorers. 

The  greeting  between  the  three  men  was  unaffected 
and  hearty.  The  ammunition  of  Boone  and  Harry  had 
by  this  time  got  so  low  that  the  addition  to  it  was  very 
welcome.  For  the  young  man  there  was  also  a  supply 
of  tobacco  and  pipes,  of  which  he  stood  sorely  in  need 
and  with  which  he  hastened  to  regale  himself,  as  soon 
as  they  were  unpacked. 

The  three  men  passed  a  very  sociable  and  agreeable 
evening  in  their  little  hut,  with  a  bright  fire  blazing  in 
front  of  it,  The  new-comer  h»4  a  great  deal  tQ  relate 


3o8  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

both  as  to  home  matters  and  concerning  the  double 
journey  he  had  undertaken. 

Much  to  the  regret  of  the  others,  he  could  give  no 
information  concerning  the  movements  of  Maude  and 
her  companions,  excepting  to  state  the  strength  of  their 
party,  since  they  had  gone  before  he  reached  the  Yad- 
kin ;  but  even  this  scanty  news  was  grateful  to  his  hear- 
ers,  since  it  confirmed  the  truth  of  the  story  of  theif 
recent  captive,  and  particularly  as  they  now  learned 
that  the  others  were  accompanied  by  an  Indian  guide, 
and  one  who  was  well  known  to  Daniel  Boone  and  his 
brother  as  a  man  who  could  be  depended  upon. 

On  the  following  day  the  three  men  set  forth  on  their 
journey,  taking  turns  in  riding,  one  of  them  being  al 
ways  on  foot. 

Boone  had  made  up  his  mind  that  even  if  the  informa 
tion  given  him  by  the  Indian  whom  they  had  captured, 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  party  they  were  seeking 
should  prove  false,  it  would  take  them  but  little  out  of 
their  way  to  follow  his  directions,  and  they  accordingly 
followed  the  stream  toward  the  point  he  had  indicated, 
and  which  they  judged  was  not  more  than  twenty-five 
or  thirty  miles  from  their  present  camp. 

Their  progress  through  the  almost  interminable  for 
ests  of  eastern  Kentucky  was  necessarily  slow. 

Ten  miles  was  a  very  good  day's  march,  and  often 
they  did  not  make  so  much.  Sometimes  far  days  to 
gether  prospecting  about  the  country  and  going  on 
hnnting  expeditions  delayed  them. 

And  this  was  the  history  of  nearly  all  such  enter 


DANIEL  BOONE.  309 

prises.  Experienced  as  Boone  and  his  origi.ial  com 
panions  had  been,  and  although  they  had  pushed  for 
ward  at  speed,  and  without  any  unnecessary  delays 
from  their  first  start  in  May,  1769,  it  had  taken  them 
more  than  a  month  to  get  a  distance  of  some  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  miles. 

The  present  party  moved,  on  the  average,  at  very  lit 
tle  greater  speed,  their  horses  being  valuable  as  beasts 
of  burden,  and  to  save  their  legs,  rather  than  to  hast 
en  their  movements. 

The  two  weeks  of  time  which  had  been  occupied  by 
the  escaped  Indian,  before  he  met  Boone,  had  not  been 
passed  in  straight  journeying,  as  he  had  explained  to 
them,  but  had  much  of  it  been  wasted  in  fruitless  ex 
cursions  in  different  directions  whither  he  went  in  hopes 
to  come  up  with  the  rest  of  his  tribe. 

Added  to  this,  the  day's  journey  which  had  been 
made  by  the  captors  of  Thomas  Hardeman  and  the  rest, 
would  have  had  to  be  gone  over  twice  before  theii 
party  could  be  again  placed  in  the  same  relative  posi 
tions.  But  taking  all  this  into  consideration,  it  was  a 
matter  of  surprise  to  Boone,  when  two  days  of  steady 
travel  in  the  direction  of  the  place  where  they  had  last 
been  seen,  failed  to  bring  about  a  meeting  with  Rafe's 
party.  He  refrained,  however,  from  expressing  his  un 
easiness  to  Harry,  and  waited,  hoping  that  they  would 
not  have  to  go  many  more  miles  without  a  meeting, 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

A  'Chapter  of  Accidents."  Capture  of  Boone's  party,  and  all  three  in  d&agw 
of  a  permanent  loss  of  liberty,  through  an  impending  matrimonial  catastro 
phe  ;  which  is  providentially  averted. 

"  WE  can  not  be  far  away  from  the  place  where  they 
had  that  tussle,"  said  Boone,  as  the  three  were  leaving 
a  level  plateau,  over  which  for  the  distance  of  a  few 
miles  their  march  had  progressed,  and  so  on  into  the 
thick  forest  on  the  other  side. 

It  was  past  noon  ;  the  travelers  had  eaten  their  mid 
day  meal ;  and  refreshed,  and  thoughtless  of  danger, 
they  moved  rapidly  on  their  journey.  Hardly  had  they 
left  the  open  ground  behind  them,  and  become  sur 
rounded  with  the  dusky  shades  of  forest  growth,  when 
suddenly,  as  if  by  magic,  their  further  progress  was 
barred. 

The  three  stopped  still  in  their  tracks,  amazed  at  the 
scene  which  met  their  gaze.  It  appeared  as  though 
every  tree  had  suddenly  changed  by  some  spell,  and 
now  disclosed  human,  instead  of  vegetable  .'ife.  As  far 
as  they  could  see,  the  forest  was  filled  with  Indians,  all 
armed  for  battle,  and  disguised  in  their  war-paint. 

Evidently,  as  it  flashed  across  Boone's  mind  instanta 
neously,  this  was  a  part,  at  least,  of  the  very  tribe  thai 

the  §ingle   Indian  whom    they  had  encountered  ha.d 
(310) 


DANIEL  BOONE.  3fj 

been  seeking  to  rejoin.  Eviderrce  as  to  this  was  fur- 
nishcd  also  on  the  instant ;  for  prominent  among  them 
could  be  seen  the  figure  of  their  late  captive. 

There  was  time  for  a  moment's  thought  on  the  part  of 
those  thus  unexpectedly  meeting,  for  the  Indians  seemed 
quite  as  much  surprised  as  were  the  other  party. 

But  it  was  useless  to  attempt  either  to  flee  from  or 
fight  so  large  a  body,  numbering  apparently  sixty  or 
seventy  warriors.  Boone  therefore  determined  to  put 
the  best  face  on  the  matter  possible,  and  accordingly 
happening  to  be  on  foot,  he  advanced  to  the  chief,  who 
stood  alone,  in  front  of  the  group  of  Indians,  and  ex 
tending  his  hand  uttered  the  customary  salutation, 
"How?" 

The  chief  did  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge  the  cour 
tesy ;  he  grasped  Boone's  hand  in  his,  and  said :  "  How  ? ' 
several  times,  as  though  to  indicate  the  great  gratifica 
tion  which  he  experienced  in  this  meeting.  The  others 
of  the  party  now  came  up,  and  it  was  speedily  made 
clear  to  Harry  and  Squire  Boone  that  they  would  do 
well  to  dismount  from  their  horses,  and  let  themselves 
be  relieved  of  the  care  of  those  animals.  This  they  did 
with  wry  faces,  and  feeling,  both  of  them,  that  their 
position,  though  romantic,  was  not  without  its  discom 
fiting  circumstances. 

Boone  knew  well  enough  that  the  party  among  whom 
he  properly  considered  himself  and  his  companions  to 
be  prisoners,  were  not  going  to  overlook  the  slaughter 
of  their  comrades  by  white  men  whom  *-hey  would  pres 
ently  know  were  friends  of  his  own. 


31*  THE  WE  AND  TIMES  Of 

In  fact,  the  Indian  of  whom  we  have  spoken  could 
now  be  seen  in  earnest  conversation  with  the  chief,  and 
from  the  manner  of  both  it  was  plain  that  he  was  iden 
tifying  the  captives,  and  it  was  not  likely  that  these 
would  long  be  left  in  ignorance  of  their  fate. 

This  proved  to  be  the  case.  The  chiefs  brow  dark 
ened,  and  the  other  Indians  clustered  about  listening, 
gave  signs  of  anger  and  irritation  which  it  was  plain 
must  presently  have  vent. 

In  fact,  this  occurred  almost  before  Boone  and  the 
others  had  time  to  collect  their  thoughts. 

With  a  wild  whoop  the  Indians  rushed  upon  them, 
and  in  a  twinkling  their  arms  were  snatched  from  them, 
and  they  were  standing  helpless  with  their  hands  tied 
behind  them.  Harry  would  have  resisted,  but  a  word 
of  counsel  whispered  in  his  ear  by  the  hunter,  quieted 
him. 

Boone  knew  that  resistance  would  mean  certain  and 
instant  death  ;  and  while  their  position  as  it  stood  was 
doubtless  precarious,  yet  while  they  lived  there  was 
hope  and  chance  of  escape. 

Meeting  with  no  opposition  the  Indians  presently 
calmed  down,  and  taking  possession  of  the  horses  and 
the  food  and  luggage  which  they  carried,  seemed  to  be 
improving  somewhat  in  their  humor  as  they  discovered 
the  value  of  the  booty  which  had  fallen  to  them. 

Boone  now  vainly  sought  to  obtain  from  the  chief 
answers  to  questions  which  he  put  to  him  in  regard  to 
the  intended  disposition  of  than,  and  as  to  why  they 
were  seized  when  there  could  be  nothing  against  them 


DANIEL  BOOKS.  313 

The  chief  listened,  and  evidently  understood  him,  but 
would  give  no  reply,  and  showed  no  sensibility  or  emo 
tion  whatever  as  to  them. 

Boone  at  length,  pointing  to  the  Ii.dian  whom  they 
had  fed  and  released  after  his  attack  upon  Harry,  de 
scribed  the  occurrence,  and  claimed  freedom  for  him 
self  and  his  party  on  account  of  it. 

"  I  found  your  young  man,"  he  said,  "  attacking  my 
friend.  I  was  armed  and  could  have  killed  him  with 
my  knife  or  my  tomahawk.  I  spared  his  life.  My 
friend  whom  he  had  sought  to  kill  forgave  him  ;  and 
when  we  found  that  he  was  suffering  from  hunger,  we  fed 
him,  and  all  night  we  permitted  him  to  lie  by  our  side 
and  rest,  only  binding  him  that  we  might  secure  our 
selves  from  danger.  In  the  morning  we  untied  him 
again,  gave  him  food,  and  let  him  go  on  his  way  re 
freshed.  It  is  not  warriors  going  out  to  fight  their 
enemies  who  are  ungrateful  and  forget  kindness,  but 
squaws  and  beardless  boys." 

Then  looking  about  over  the  faces  of  the  savages 
grouped  around  him,  he  waved  his  hand,  as  though  it 
included  them  all,  and  continued  :  "  These  seem  to  be 
men  •  I  see  war-paint  on  their  faces,  and  arms  in  their 
hands.  Are  they  going  out  to  play,  and  did  they  paint 
themselves  to  frighten  women  and  children  ?  Are  they 
cowards,  that  they  have  tied  three  harmless  travelers, 
after  having  first  disarmed  them,  that  they  should  not 
defeat  nigh  on  to  one  hundred  warriors?" 

Boone's  address  had  its  effect.     That  it  irritated  and 
even  shamed  them  in  some  degree,  was  plain  from  the 
M 


manner  of  the  Indians,  but  the  general  impression  wan 
in  favor  of  the  captured  party. 

The  chief  now  called  up  the  Indian  whose  freedom 
had  been  given  him  by  Boone  and  Harry,  and  closely 
questioned  him  as  to  the  truth  of  what  had  been  said 
by  the  hunter 

For  the  moment  Boone  thought  it  possible  his  words 
might  have  even  gained  their  release,  but  this  impres 
sion  was  short-lived. 

After  conferring  with  the  other  Indians,  the  chief 
turned  to  Boone,  and  said  : 

"  Your  people  killed  my  warriors.  Their  medicine 
man  made  fire  burst " — and  he  flung  his  arms  into  the 
air,  to  signify  the  explosion  caused  by  Rafe  Slaugh 
ter,  and  which  had  evidently  been  described  to  him — 
"  and  my  young  men  were  left  dead  on  the  ground 
Their  squaws  wait  for  them  at  our  village.  But  you 
were  kind  to  one  of  our  warriors,  and  you  shall  not  die. 
You  shall  go  with  us  to  take  the  place  of  the  men  who 
were  killed  by  your  friends.  You  shall  be  husbands  to 
their  squaws." 

The  most  of  the  colloquy  between  Boone  and  the 
chief  had  been  conducted  in  the  Shawnee  tongue,  with 
which  Boone  was  passably  familiar;  at  its  close  he 
communicated  to  his  companions  the  nature  of  the 
decision  reached  by  the  chief. 

The  prospect  was  not  exhilarating  to  any  of  them. 
The  idea  of  being  taken  to  an  Indian  village  to  fill  the 
position  of  husband  to  the  widow  of  a  dead  warrior, 
did  not  strike  them  favorably  ;  but  it  was  plain  that 


DANIEL  BOONE.  315 

even  this  conclusion,  if  carried  out,  might  bt  greatly 
preferable  to  the  fate  which  they  had  not  unreasonably 
anticipated  ;  and  as  Boone  said — between  them  and 
the  Indian  village  were  many  miles  and  many  oppor 
tunities. 

The  march  was  now  begun,  and  Harry  felt  his  heart 
grow  heavy  in  his  bosom,  as  he  saw  that  it  took  a  di 
rection  almost  exactly  opposite  to  that  in  which  they 
had  been  going — as  they  supposed  to  a  speedy  meeting 
with  their  friends. 

After  proceeding  a  few  miles,  the  steps  of  the  party 
were  directed  toward  the  bank  of  the  stream  which 
Boone  and  the  others  had  followed  on  their  way  east. 

Here  a  halt  was  made,  and  a  discussion  between  the 
chief  and  his  followers  ensued.     The  result  of  this  ap» 
peared  presently ;   a   considerable  body  of  the  lattet 
going  off  in  a  westerly  direction,  leaving  about  twenty 
including  the  chief,  in  charge  of  the  prisoners. 

Boone  regarded  this  change  with  considerable  satis 
faction,  as  it  was  much  easier  to  deal  with  twenty  men 
than  with  seventy. 

The  spirits  of  all  three  rose  in  consequence.  The 
spot  where  they  were  was  one  frequented  by  buffalo 
and  other  animals,  which  came  there  to  drink ;  and 
here  the  water  was  shallow,  although  the  stream  was 
rapid  and  pretty  wide.  The  locality  was  evidently  well 
known  to  the  Indians,  who  at  once  commenced  to  ford 
the  stream,  taking  their  prisoners  with  them. 

On  gaining  the  opposite  bank  they  increased  their 
speed,  evidently  with  the  intention  of  reaching  some 


316  THE  LIFE  AND  TIME*  OF 

particulai  spot  before  nightfall.  From  an  occasional 
word  dropped  by  his  captors,  Boone  gained  the  impres. 
sion  that  this  party  was  only  a  small  portion  of  a  whole 
tribe,  and  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  some  exten 
sive  warlike  action  was  in  preparation,  and  that  their 
present  journey  was  designed  to  bring  about  a  union 
with  the  main  body  of  Shawnees,  probably  encamped 
some  miles  further  on. 

It  soon  became  evident,  however,  that  whatever  point 
they  had  in  view,  the  Indians  had  made  up  their  minds 
that  they  would  not  be  able  to  reach  it  at  the  time  they 
desired. 

Word  was  passed  to  slacken  their  speed,  a  command 
which  was  sufficiently  agreeable  to  Boone  and  his  com 
panions,  who  were  by  this  time  becoming  greatly  fa 
tigued  with  the  rapidity  of  their  progress,  and  the 
rough  ground  over  which  they  were  hurried  with  very 
little  consideration  for  their  feelings.  They  kept  on, 
however,  until  dark,  when  the  chief  gave  the  command 
to  stop,  and  encamp  for  the  night. 

This  order  was  at  once  obeyed,  and  the  usual  prepa 
rations  being  made,  a  fire  built  and  food  distributed, 
all,  except  the  Indians  who  were  placed  on  guard,  were 
presently  wrapt  in  slumber  ;  excepting,  also,  Boone  and 
his  companions,  who  were  not  only  too  tired,  but  too 
agitated  by  their  condition,  and  the  conflicting  emo 
tions  which  disturbed  them,  to  be  immediately  over 
come  by  sleep. 

They  were  still  securely  tied,  and  as  they  lay  upon 
the  ground  a  short  distance  from  the  fire,  around  which 


DANIEL  £OOK£.  3 , 7 

were  extended  the  forms  of  the  sleeping  savages,  the!: 
reflections  were  certainly  not  of  an  agreeable  cast 
though,  as  for  Boone,  he  had  been  too  many  times  in 
danger,  and  even  in  similar  difficulty,  to  trouble  himseU 
much  concerning  the  disagreeable  features  of  his  posi 
tion.  His  watchful  eye  was  continually  on  the  afert, 
and  his  mind,  acute  and  suggestive,  on  the  lookout  for 
some  possible  chance  for  escape. 

While  thus  reflecting,  his  attention  was  drawn  toward 
the  Indian  whose  friend  he  had  been  in  their  chance 
encounter,  and  whose  eyes,  he  noticed,  were  fixed  upon 
him,  and  with  not  an  unfriendly  expression. 

Perceiving  at  length  that  he  had  attracted  Boone's 
attention,  the  Indian  rose,  after  poking  the  fire  for  a 
moment  with  a  stick,  which  he  had  picked  up  for  that 
purpose,  and  went  into  the  woods,  as  though  for  more 
fuel. 

His  movement  was  observed  by  the  Indians  who 
were  watching,  but  they  paid  no  attention  to  it,  and  a 
moment  later  Boone  was  surprised  to  hear  a  sound  be 
hind  him — in  the  opposite  direction  to  that  in  which 
the  Indian  had  disappeared. 

Turning  his  head,  he  saw  the  latter  immediately 
behind  him.  Making  a  warning  gesture,  the  Indian 
showed  his  knife  in  his  hand,  and  Boone  understood 
in  a  moment  his  intentions. 

Raising  himself,  accordingly,  so  that  his  back,  with 
his  hands  tied  behind  him,  was  exposed  and  within 
reach  of  the  Indian,  he  was  gratified  to  discover  that 
he  had  not  been  mistaken  in  his  impression.  In  a  tr.o- 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

ment  he  felt  the  movement  of  the  knife  as  it  cut  th« 
cords  which  bound  his  hands,  and  turning  again  he  saw 
the  Indian  drop  it  on  the  ground  beside  him,  and 
quickly  disappear.  Presently  he  returned  to  his  for- 
mer  position,  with  an  armful  of  wood,  which  he  placed 
upon  the  fire. 

Having  quietly  and  carefully  possessed  himself  of 
the  knife,  Boone  began  a  slow  movement,  which  soon 
brought  him  to  the  side  of  his  companions,  who  were 
lying  a  little  distance  from  him,  and  who  had  not  per. 
ceived  what  had  occurred.  They  had  seen  the  Indian 
disappear  and  return  again  with  the  wood  for  the  fire, 
and  had  thought  no  more  of  it. 

When  Boone  had  reached  the  others,  he  dared  only 
say  a  few  words  to  explain  what  had  happened.  He 
still  kept  his  hands  behind  him,  but  with  the  knife 
closely  grasped  in  one  of  them  ;  and  his  change  of 
position,  though  witnessed  by  the  Indians  on  watch, 
had  not  awakened  any  suspicion.  He  waited,  however, 
before  undertaking  any  further  movement  until  an  op 
portunity  should  present  itself.  This  was  not  slow  in 
coming,  though  occasioned  from  a  quarter  and  by  an 
agency  the  least  anticipated. 

The  night  was  clear  and  still,  the  stars  shone  brilliantly 
in  the  heavens,  and  a  slight  breeze  only  moved  the  tops 
of  the  tall  trees — sufficiently  to  cause  that  sighing  in  the 
air  which  is  so  common  a  sound  to  those  who  frequent 
the  forests,  and  which  was  the  only  noise  perceptible. 

But  a  change  came  with  a  suddenness  and  unexpect 
edness  that  were  electrifying. 


DANIEL  BOONS. 

All  at  once  the  air  rang  with  yells  that  made  the 
blood  curdle  in  the  veins  of  Harry  and  Squire  Boone, 
but  were  understood  by  the  more  experienced  hunter, 
who  lay  beside  them  watching  his  chance. 

The  fierce  war-whoops  at  once  aroused  the  sleeping 
Indians,  and  in  an  instant  they  were  on  their  feet  with 
their  arms  in  their  hands,  and  all  was  confusion. 

In  this  moment  of  excitement  they  ceased  to  think 
of  their  captives,  and  the  opportunity  was  seized  by 
Daniel  Boone. 

With  the  knife  which  had  been  given  him  by  the 
friendly  Indian,  he  quickly  cut  the  bonds  which  con 
fined  the  limbs  of  his  friends,  and  whispering :  "  Quick 
now  !  follow  me ! "  darted  into  the  woods,  the  others 
close  on  his  heels. 

Their  flight  was  unobserved,  and  in  a  few  moments 
they  were  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  scene, 
which  now  resounded  with  the  noise  of  conflict. 

Loud  yells  of  defiance  and  of  mortal  agony,  with  the 
crack  of  the  rifle  and  the  sharp  whiz  of  arrows  as  they 
flew  through  the  air,  showed  that  a  fierce  battle  was 
going  on. 

But  Boone  and  the  others  did  not  wait  long  to  listen ; 
directing  their  steps  at  hazard,  they  continued  to  run 
at  their  best  speed  until  the  sounds  of  conflict  had 
grown  more  and  more  distant,  and  at  length  ceased 
entirely.  Very  few  words  were  spoken  until  several 
miles  had  been  placed  between  them  and  the  scene  of 
their  late  captivity. 

By  this  time  the  first  light  of  dawn  was  appearing  in 


320 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 


the  east,  and  as  they  had  hitherto  been  going  in  the 
opposite  direction,  Boone  now  paused  for  a  momeiu, 
and  called  a  council. 

"  Well,"  said  Harry,  taking  the  first  opportunity  to 
express  the  thought  that  was  uppermost  in  his  mind, 
"  we  have  got  away,  and  that  is  certainly  something  to 
be  thankful  for ;  but  it  occurs  to  me,  what  are  we  go 
ing  to  do  in  the  woods  without  guns  or  ammunition  ? 
We  shall  starve  to  death  certainly." 

"  Don't  tempt  Providence,  young  man,"  said  Boone 
a  little  severely  ;  "  be  thankful  for  your  escape,  and  be 
lieve  that  the  same  power,  or  good  fortune,  or  what 
ever  you  wish  to  call  it,  that  accomplished  that,  may 
perhaps  think  enough  of  you  to  bring  you  safe  out  of 
your  difficulties." 

"  After  all,  you  are  right,  Boone,"  replied  Harry,  a 
little  chop-fallen  at  this  rebuke ;  "  it  is  certainly  toe 
early  to  complain.  I  am  very  thankful  for  our  escape." 

"  And  besides,  Mr.  Calvert,"  said  .Boone,  "  you  must 
remember  that  the  Indian  we  captured,  lived  for  two 
weeks  on  roots  and  nuts,  and  what  he  could  do,  we 
can." 

"  Well,  he  was  a  poor  half-starved  creature  when  we 
found  him  ;  but  still,  when  we  did  find  him,  he  was 
alive,  and  is  now,  unless  those  other  red  rascals — whom 
I  bless  for  their  interposition — have  made  away  with 
him." 

"  Which  I  guess  they  have,"  said  Squire  Boone.  "  I 
caught  sight  of  them  as  they  came  out  of  the  bush, 
and  I  tell  you  there  were  more  than  a  hundred  of  'em. 


DANIEL  BOOXE, 


321 


"  What  do  you  suppose  they  were  ?"  asked  Harry. 

"  Cherokees,"  replied  Boone  ;  "  they  are  at  war  with 
the  Shawnees,  who,  I  guess,  thought  they  were  going 
to  steal  a  march  on  them,  and  will  find  themselves  mis 
taken.  But,  anyhow,  there  is  going  to  be  an  awful 
row  out  here  before  long,  and  I'd  just  as  soon  be  away 
when  it  happens  ;  so  I  think  the  best  thing  we  can  do 
will  be  to  push  right  on  east  till  we  get  to  the  mount 
ains,  and  then  take  the  pass  that  I  came  in  by  when  I 
was  out  here  first,  instead  of  going  south  to  the  one  I 
came  through  this  last  time." 

The  wisdom  of  this  judgment  seeming  evident  to 
the  others,  they  changed  their  course,  and  pushed  on 
rapidly  eastward. 

14* 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

The  beginning  of  the  end.  Rafe  Slaughter  has  presentiments — and  Maud* 
finds  herself  unexpectedly  in  possession  of  an  important  secret.  A  Bight- 
surprise  followed  by  another,  and  Daniel  Boone  is  heard  from — with  very 
decisive  results.  Traitors  in  the  camp — and  out  of  it. 

THE  threads  of  our  story  are  now  drawing  together. 

The  reader  is  to  be  advised  that  the  incidents  which 
have  been  recounted  in  the  last  few  chapters,  though 
they  occurred  in  different  places,  and  involved  different 
Characters  in  our  narrative,  were  actually  going  on  at 
very  nearly  the  same  point  of  time. 

Thus  the  death  of  Stephen  Roberts ;  followed  by 
the  departure  of  Judge  Anderson  westward,  and  his 
arrival  at  Squire  O'Brien's  estate ;  the  occurrences 
there,  and  the  setting  out  of  the  two  gentlemen,  with 
their  party,  on  their  own  special  mission  ;  the  progress 
of  Daniel  Boone  and  his  companion,  and  their  meeting 
with  Squire  Boone ;  the  subsequent  journey,  capture, 
and  night-combat  between  the  Shawnees  and  the  Chero- 
kees ;  and  the  escape  of  the  three  explorers ;  all  of  this 
was  happening  during  about  two  weeks  in  the  month 
of  September,  1771. 

Unknown  to  themselves,  and  yet  with  a  directness 
of  purpose  which  would  almost  seem  to  indicate  knowl 
edge  and  intention,  the  figures  who  have  moved  through 


DANIEL  600X6.  ^ 

our  history  were  gradually  approaching  each  other  to 
accomplish  the  ends  which  had  been  appointed  for 
them. 

In  one  of  the  most  profound  studies  of  human  nat 
ure,  given  to  delight  and  instruct  the  world  by  the 
naster  spirit  of  fiction,  as  it  describes  human  nature, 
is  to  be  found  the  following  curious  passage  : 

"  In  our  course  through  life,  we  shall  meet  the  peo 
ple,  who  are  coming  to  meet  us,  from  many  strange 
places  and  by  many  strange  roads,  and  what  it  is  set  to 
us  to  do  to  them,  and  what  it  is  set  to  them  to  do  to 
us,  will  all  be  done." 

The  old  and  true  saying,  "Truth  is  stranger  than 
fiction,"  is  perhaps  never  better  illustrated  than  in  the 
execution  of  precisely  this  kind  of  phenomenon.  The 
seemingly  improbable  contingencies  upon  which  fiction 
is  based,  are  in  reality  the  most  natural  part  of  it. 

All  human  experience  displays  what  are  known  as 
coincidences,  in  the  most  startling  number,  and  of  the 
most  remarkable  and  unexpected  nature.  "  It  is  the 
unforeseen  which  really  happens,"  says  a  French  writer  • 
and  when  one  recalls  the  nature  of  those,  lives  with 
which  he  is  familiar,  he  will,  in  almost  all  instances,  be 
confirmed  in  his  confidence  in  the  accuracy  of  this  state 
ment. 

Not  the  least  remarkable  feature  of  the  condition  of 
the  personages,  to  the  recounting  of  some  portion  of 
whose  lives  and  acts  we  have  been  directing  our  atten 
tion — not  the  least  peculiar  incident  in  regard  to  their 
situation  at  the  time  which  we  have  now  reached,  was 


324  THb  LIFE  AND  TIMES  Of 

the  fact,  that,  though  unknown  to  any  of  them,  they 
were  in  reality  very  near  together. 

The  course  which  was  now  being  followed  by  Daniel 
Boone  and  his  brother,  and  Harry  Calvert,  altered  from 
their  original  intention  by  the  force  of  circumstances, 
yas  along  the  right  bank  of  the  fork  of  the  Louisa 
River — the  same  stream  where  we  left  Rafe  Slaughter, 
Thomas  Hardeman,  and  the  rest,  after  they  returned 
to  the  place  where  Rafe  and  the  women  had  forded 
the  stream  and  escaped  from  the  Indians.  Meanwhile, 
the  course  which  was  designed  to  be  pursued  by  Judge 
Anderson  and  Squire  O'Brien,  as  intimated  in  a  pre 
vious  chapter,  had  been  actually  followed  by  them, 
accompanied  by  the  two  who  had  accompanied  the 
Judge  from  Granville;  and  also  by  a  sturdy  backwoods- 
man,  temporarily  employed  by  Squire  O'Brien  about 
his  estate. 

They  had  set  forth  as  they  had  designed,  and  had 
moved  rapidly  in  the  direction  taken  by  Rafe  and  his 
party  in  their  search  for  Boone  and  Harry  Calvert. 

They  were  on  horseback,  and  fully  armed  and  equip 
ped  for  any  adventure  that  might  befall  them.  A  week's 
tapid  traveling,  undisturbed  by  any  incident  of  impor 
tance,  brought  them  to  the  pass  in  the  Cumberland 
mountains  by  which  Rafe's  party  had  proceeded  west 
ward,  and  there  we  will  leave  them,  while  we  return  to 
the  latter  party  whom  we  left  following  the  fork  of 
the  Louisa  River  toward  its  junction  with  the  latter 
stream. 

From  the  time  when  Rafe  Slaughter  had  undertaken 


DANIEL  BOONS.  325 

to  guide  the  movements  of  his  party  on  their  new 
route,  there  had  been  occurrences  of  a  nature  calculated 
to  render  him  uneasy  and  to  disturb  the  comfort  of  all 
of  them.  Skirting  the  stream  at  its  banks,  at  night 
they  could  see  on  the  opposite  side  the  light  of  camp- 
fires  ;  sometimes  in  single  instances,  or  frequently,  sev 
eral  at  a  time,  at  wide  distances  apart. 

This  state  of  things,  hitherto  not  a  part  of  their  ex 
perience,  was  very  disturbing  to  their  minds.  On  the 
one  hand,  it  might  happen  that  one  of  these  camp-fires 
should  be  that  of  those  whom  they  were  seeking,  and 
as  to  whom  their  anxiety  by  this  time  had  become  most 
engrossing.  But  again,  this  could  only  be  the  case  with 
one  of  them  ;  and  though  there  might  be  other  parties 
of  white  men,  traders,  and  others  about  in  the  forests, 
the  well-known  character  of  this  locality  and  the  fre 
quency  with  which  it  was  made  the  scene  of  bitter  and 
bloody  warfare  among  the  Indians,  rendered  this  little 
likely. 

Moreover,  as  was  argued  by  the  men  among  them 
selves,  Brownell  and  the  Indian  guide  being  considered 
certainly  good  authorities,  there  was  little  probability 
of  Boone's  venturing  upon  lighting  a  fire  at  night, 
when  he  must  certainly  be  aware  of  Indians  being  in 
the  neighborhood,  who  might  by  this  means  discovei 
them. 

Meanwhile,  over  the  minds  cf  all  those  of  their  num 
ber  who  were  most  interested  in  the  fate  of  the  ones 
whom  they  were  seeking,  had  come  that  vague  impres 
sion  which  is  so  frequent  in  human  experience — that 


326  THE  LIFE  AATD  TIMES  OF 

their  friends  were  near  them.  In  the  conversations 
wh.ch  they  so  frequently  held  among  themselves,  Maude 
especially  had  laid  great  stress  upon  the  force,  in  htf 
case,  of  this  sense  of  their  proximity  to  Boone  and 
Harry. 

Thomas  Hardeman,  who  was  not  inclined  to  mental 
examination,  either  of  himself  or  anybody  else,  and  who 
seldom  philosophized,  except  from  a  strictly  practical 
stand-point,  easily  disposed  of  these  impressions  upon 
Maude's  mind — to  his  own  satisfaction,  if  not  to  hers. 

"  My  dear  Miss  O'Brien,"  he  would  say,  "  there  is 
nothing  mysterious  in  your  belief  that  Boone  and 
Harry,  if  they  are  living,  must  be  somewhere  near  us. 
All  the  probabilities  point  to  the  fact  that  they  will 
now  be  quite  as  far  advanced  as  this  on  their  return 
home  ;  and  though  by  being  (fortunately  for  us)  on  this 
side  of  the  water,  we  are  out  of  the  track  which  they 
would  naturally  follow  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
it  is  hardly  to  be  doubted  that  Boone,  with  his  skill  in 
woodcraft,  and  the  responsibility  which  he  must  feel 
concerning  the  important  interests  he  is  engaged  in 
forwarding,  would  be  more  likely  to  adopt  the  safest 
course,  and  retrace  his  steps  by  the  way  we  are  going, 
than  to  run  the  risks  which  he  must  know  would  be 
before  him  if  he  kept  on  the  other  side  of  the  river." 

Maude  laughed  at  this  practical  view,  and  tossed  her 
head  a  little  as  she  replied  : 

"  Well,  we  all  know  you  are  not  sentimental  or  mys 
tical,  but  perhaps  we  may  both  be  right,  and  reach  the 
truth,  both  of  us,  though  by  different  roads." 


DANIEL  BOONE.  32; 

"  I  agree  with  Hardeman,"  said  Rafe,  "  as  to  the 
probabilities  of  the  case,  while  I  do  not  dispute  the 
force  of  premonitions  ;  indeed,  I  am  the  last  one  to 
refuse  to  give  credence  to  precisely  that  class  of  mental 
phenomena." 

"  Surely,  Rafe,"  said  Hardeman,  "you  are  not  super 
stitious ;  at  least  I  have  not  seen  anything  in  you  to 
lead  me  to  believe  so." 

"  Well,  while  I  do  not  think  I  am  superstitious,  in 
the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word,  I  do  sometimes  place  a 
good  deal  of  reliance  on  my  impressions,  even  when  I 
can't  discover  on  what  they  are  based." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  with  a  half  sigh 
continued  : 

"  And  as  it  seems  to  illustrate  this  subject,  I  will  tell 
you,  what  perhaps  I  should  not  have  mentioned  other 
wise,  that  I  have  for  some  days  had  a  presentiment, 
misty  and  undefined,  but  which  has  affected  me  more 
than  perhaps  it  should  have  done." 

"And  that  is?"  asked  Maude,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  sense  of  danger — to  myself" — he  con 
tinued,  hastily,  seeing  that  she  looked  alarmed. 

"  I  appear  to  be  approaching  something  which  is 
going  to  result  in  a  grave  and  serious  conclusion  to 
myself." 

"  Did  you  ever  have  that  impression  before  ?  "  asked 
Maude. 

"  Once,  yes  ;  when  I  was  in  India  ;  but  at  that  time, 
it  did  not  seem  to  be  of  a  nature  to  affect  me,  individ- 
Uiilly,  or  .-?!  Icqst  so  much  s-o  as  at  present?' 


328  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  Well,  what  happened  then  ?  "  inquired  Hardeman 

"  What  happened  was,"  replied  the  other,  "  that  it 
that  time  I  was  in  Calcutta,  which  was  then  besieged 
by  Suraja  Dowlah,  and  that  I  narrowly  escaped  beinfl 
among  the  number  confined  in  the  now  celebrated 
Black  Hole,'  of  whom  out  of  one  hundred  and  forty, 
six,  only  twenty-three  were  found  alive  on  the  morning 
following  their  incarceration." 

The  others  were  seriously  affected  at  the  recountal 
of  their  friend's  connection  with  this  terrible  event, 
which  was  still  fresh  in  the  memories  of  all  English- 
speaking  people,  as  an  historical  incident  of  their  own 
times. 

"  Well,"  said  Hardeman,  after  a  moment,  and  evi 
dently  with  a  desire  to  throw  off  the  effect  of  this  nar 
ration,  both  from  his  own  mind  and  that  of  his  com 
panions  ;  "  in  the  midst  of  the  siege,  with  all  its  horrors, 
and  especially  when  that  was  being  conducted  by  such 
a  brutal  and  bloodthirsty  people  as  the  Bengalese,  it 
would  not  be  surprising  that  you  should  experience 
impressions  of  coming  disaster,  at  least  in  a  general 
way  ;  but  why  you  should  now  feel  any  presentiment  of 
special  danger  to  yourself,  does  not  appear  on  account 
of  that  incident. 

"  There  is  just  so  much  similarity  between  the  cases," 
he  added,  "  that  we  are  very  possibly  in  the  neighbor 
hood  of  savages  as  brutal  and  barbarous  as  those  whom 
you  then  encountered ;  but  if  anything  should  happen 
to  us  from  them,  I  fancy  we  would  be  united  in  danger 
a.nd  disaster." 


DANIEL  BOONL.  329 

"  Well,"  said  Rafe,  "  I  only  mentioned  this  to  show 
that  Maude  is  not  alone  in  her  experience.  But  her 
impressions  are  not  forebodings  of  disaster ;  and  it  mine 
are  correct,  they  will,  according  to  my  theory,  only  re 
act  upon  myself. 

"  But,  to  change  the  subject,"  he  went  on,  "  I  have 
been  thinking  that  it  would  be  a  good  idea  for  us,  con 
sidering  the  evident  proximity  of  the  Indians,  to  dis 
cover  some  place  of  safety  to  which  we  could  retire 
in  case  we  should  be  attacked,  or  should  see  any  of 
them. 

"  So  this  morning,  when  John  and  I  were  out  togeth 
er,  we  took  some  pains  to  search  for  such  a  place,  and 
I  think  have  found  one  that  will  answer  our  purpose 
exactly." 

"  Then  do  you  not  mean  to  go  on  ?  "  asked  Maude, 
nervously. 

"  Just  for  the  present,  and  while  these  camp-fires  are 
so  frequent  in  the  neighborhood,  I  think  it  would  be 
well  to  lie  by  quietly,  out  of  the  way,  and  wait  and  rest 
a  little.  It  can  not  be  more  than  a  few  days  before 
these  roving  bands,  of  whoever  they  may  consist,  will 
have  continued  upon  their  journey." 

"  And  what  sort  of  a  place  have  you  found  ?  "  asked 
Hardeman. 

"  About  a  mile  west  of  here,"  rejoined  Rafe,  "  the  land 
rises  along  the  bank  of  the  river  to  a  height  of  about 
seventy-five  feet  in  abrupt  bluffs ;  skirting  along  the 
edge  of  these,  John  and  I  came  across  the  entrance  t0 
a  considerable  cave,  which  we  explored  at  once. 


330  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  It  backs  right  on  to  the  water,  and  forms  quite  , 
large  apartment  opening  into  a  smaller  one.  At  the 
sides  there  are  crevices  or  fissures  in  the  rock,  particu 
larly  in  that  portion  of  it  overhanging  the  river,  which 
afford  light  and  air:  and  altogether,  I  am  certain  we 
could  hold  such  a  place,  if  we  were  barricaded  within  it, 
against  three  times  our  number." 

"  How  romantic  !  "  cried  Maude  ;  "  it  reminds  one  of 
the  persecutions  of  the  Waldenses,  and  their  taking 
refuge  in  caves  in  the  mountains  of  Piedmont." 

"  Well,"  said  Hardeman,  "  we  are  not  persecuted, 
but  we  should  be  pretty  certain  to  be  if  we  fell  into  the 
hands  of  some  of  those  bloodthirsty  savages.  I  think 
your  idea  is  a  good  one,  Rafe,  and  we  had  better  pro 
ceed  at  once  to  putting  it  into  effect." 

The  three  now  joined  their  companions,  who  were 
loitering  about  the  temporary  encampment,  and  Rafe 
informed  them  of  the  conclusion  they  had  reached  as  to 
their  future  movements.  The  plan  was  viewed  fa 
vorably  by  all  of  them,  and  preparations  were  at  once 
made  to  carry  it  into  effect. 

In  a  little  while  the  whole  party  were  in  motion  and 
the  short  distance  was  speedily  passed  over,  and  the 
cave  reached. 

No  place  of  refuge  could  have  been  better  chosen. 
The  entrance  was  hidden  behind  a  thick  growth  of 
underbrush,  and  had  only  been  discovered  through  an 
accidental  slip  and  fall  of  the  guide  from  the  rocks 
above,  straight  into  the  bushes  which  hid  it.  On  enter 
ing,  a  sufficient  light  for  all  practical  purposes  was 


DANIEL  BO  ONE.  331 

found,  gaining  admission  through  the  crev  ices  of  which 
Rafe  had  spoken. 

The  floor  of  the  cave  and  the  walls  were  perfect!} 
dry ;  and  the  smaller  apartment,  extending  to  one  side, 
and  which  opened  through  an  aperture  large  enough 
for  a  person  to  pass  through,  was  evidently  just  the 
place  for  the  females  of  the  party. 

The  travelers  had  by  this  time  laid  in  a  considerable 
stock  of  dried  venison,  while  the  pork  and  corn-meal, 
with  which  they  had  provided  themselves  on  setting 
forth  on  their  journey,  had  not  yet  all  given  out ;  they 
were  therefore  not  likely  to  starve  in  their  new  retreat. 

They  considered  it  best  for  the  present  that  they 
should  not  indulge  in  hunting,  lest  the  sound  of  their 
rifles  might  bring  the  Indians  down  upon  them. 

In  a  few  hours  everything  had  been  comfortably  ar 
ranged  in  their  new  abode ;  and  all  settled  down  to 
wait  until  such  time  as  they  might  safely  sally  forth 
and  continue  their  journey.  Meanwhile  the  Indian 
guide  was  left  outside  on  the  watch,  to  be  relieved  from 
time  to  time  by  one  of  the  others ;  and  the  night 
passed  without  any  disturbing  incident,  though  the 
light  from  the  camp-fires  at  different  points  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river  could  be  seen  as  before. 

The  ground  on  which  they  were  was  high,  and  an  ex- 
tended  view  could  be  had  in  the  direction  in  which  the 
fires  were  to  be  seen.  Their  relative  positions  had 
changed  ;  but  so  little,  that  Brownell,  upon  whose  judg 
ment  they  all  relied,  was  convinced  that  they  did  not 
indicate  in  their  altered  locality  the  line  of  march  of  a 


332  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

large  body  of  men,  but  rather  the  slow  movements  o\ 
several  smaller  parties. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  think  about  it,  Mr.  Slaughter,"  he 
said,  on  returning  to  the  cave  after  having  been  out  to 
inspect  the  situation.  "  I  believe  there  is  going  to  be  a 
big  war  between  some  of  these  tribes — like  as  not  the 
Shawnees  and  Cherokees.  I  heard,  before  I  left  home, 
that  the  Cherokees  had  been  called  together  by  their 
chiefs,  and  that  something  out  of  the  common  was 
going  on  among  them.  Tears  to  me  as  though  them 
camps  yonder  was  likely  to  be  small  bodies  of  one 
tribe  or  another  within  signalling  distance  of  each  other, 
on  the  lookout  for  the  fellers  they  are  after.  If  Boone 
and  his  people  are  over  there,"  he  added,  "  I  would  not 
give  much  for  their  scalps." 

"  Boone  is  smart  enough  to  take  care  of  himself,  and 
whoever  he  has  got  with  him,"  said  Rafe,  who  did  not 
exactly  like  the  way  in  which  Brownell  spoke.  "  Be 
sides  himself  he  has  no  one  with  him  except  Mr.  Cal- 
vert,  who  will  undoubtedly  have  joined  him  long  before 
this." 

"  No,  that  is  so,"  said  the  other;  "  the  people  he  took 
out  with  him  were  all  lost  or  killed." 

The  manner  in  which  Rafe  Slaughter  had  received 
Brownell's  remark  about  Boone  did  not  escape  the  at 
tention  of  the  latter,  though  he  had  refrained  from 
showing  it.  Ever  since  his  discovery  of  the  nature  of 
the  paper  he  had  received  from  Rose,  Rafe  had  experi- 
enced  a  feeling  with  regard  to  Brownell  and  his  com 
panion,  which,  while  he  could  not  exactly  define  it,  or 


DANIEL  BOONE. 


333 


term  it  suspicion,  was  of  a  character  to  weaken  his  con- 
fidence  in  them ;  and  in  fact,  though  almost  involun 
tarily,  he  watched  them  both  closely.  The  change  in 
his  opinions,  although  without  his  intending  it,  had  in 
fluenced  his  manner,  and  Brownell,  who  was  sharp  to 
perceive  anything  of  that  nature,  did  not  fail  to  discov 
er  it. 

After  leaving  Rafe  on  the  present  occasion,  he  re 
turned  to  the  end  of  the  cave,  where  he  and  Hunter 
were  to  sleep  ;  and,  throwing  himself  down  beside  the 
latter,  he  said,  in  a  low  voice  and  grumbling  tone  : 

"  I  don't  like  the  way  that  long-armed,  bandy-legged 
fellow  talks  to  me,  and  I  ain't  satisfied  with  the  whole 
business,  just  now.  This  being  cooped-up  here  in  a 
hole,  because  he  is  afraid  to  let  his  women  folks  be  out 
in  the  open  air — for  fear  they  might  catch  cold  or  some 
thing — don't  suit  me." 

"  But  don't  you  think  it  would  be  risky  to  keep  on 
while  those  Indians  are  about  ?"  asked  Hunter. 

"  Indians  be  hanged  !  It's  a  wild-goose  chase,  any 
how.  Like  as  not,  the  scalps  of  Boone  and  that  other 
fellow  is  hanging  in  some  warrior's  belt  these  six  months 
past.  I  am  getting  sick  of  this  whole  move,  and  ain't 
sure  that  I  won't  go  away,  and  travel  back  to  the  set 
tlements." 

"  What  did  you  come  here  for,  anyhow  ?  "  asked  the 
other,  turning  his  face  toward  him  ;  "  you  have  never 
told  me." 

Brownell  did  not  say  anything  for  a  moment  ancl 
then  he  replied  ? 


334  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  Well,  I  ain't  going  to  tell  you — not  now,  anyhow 
there  is  too  many  ears  around  here  ;  but  perhaps  to-moi 
row,  if  I  get  the  chance  to  speak  to  you,  and  you  prom 
ise  to  hold  your  tongue,  I  will  tell  you  something." 

The  other  said  nothing,  but  appearing  to  be  contented 
with  this  answer,  turned  over  on  his  side,  and  in  a  few 
moments  was  sound  asleep — a  condition  which  had  been 
reached  by  most  of  the  other  occupants  of  the  cave 
some  time  before. 

During  the  following  day  Rafe  had  a  close  watch 
kept  of  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  cave.  The 
men  were  moving  about  singly  in  the  woods,  preserving 
a  careful  inspection  of  the  paths  frequented  by  the  deer 
and  other  animals  on  their  way  to  the  water,  and  by 
which  natural  ways  any  travelers  would  be  passing. 

The  women  were  not  confined  to  the  cave,  though 
they  kept  themselves  secluded  from  any  possible  ob 
servation  from  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Once  dur 
ing  the  day  Rafe  Slaughter  saw  a  party  of  fifteen  or 
twenty  Indians  on  that  side  come  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  water,  at  a  spot  which  was  evidently  a  favorite  resort 
of  buffaloes  and  other  animals  ;  but  after  gazing  about 
them  for  a  while,  up  and  down  the  river,  they  retired. 

Carefully  regarding  Rafe's  injunctions  not  to  expose 
themselves  where  they  could  be  seen  from  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  Maude  and  Mademoiselle  amused 
themselves"  by  strolling  about  the  immediate  vicinity 
of  the  cave,  and  were  accompanied  by  Rose,  with  Mike 
to  take  care  of  all  of  them.  The  others  were  never 
more  than  a  few  hundred  yards  away,  where  a  single 


DANfEL  BOONS.  335 

Cry  would  reach  their  ears,  and  call  them,  if  there  was 
any  necessity. 

This  delay  and  inactivity  hung  heavily  on  Maude's 
hands,  after  the  first  interest  of  their  introduction  to  the 
cave  had  passed  away.  Her  thoughts  were  with  her  lover, 
and  now  more  than  ever,  since  her  heart  seemed  to  tell 
her  that  he  was  not  far  distant  from  her.  There  was  no 
cause  for  alarm  in  her  impressions  ;  on  the  contrary, 
she  felt  a  positive  conviction  that  she  was  to  see  Harry 
very  soon  ;  and  though  she  laughed  at  herself  for  what 
seemed  to  her  a  childish  infatuation,  it  nevertheless 
had  its  effect,  and  rendered  the  present  detention  more 
annoying. 

She  amused  herself  by  strolling  about,  picking  moss 
and  a  few  late  flowers  ;  and  thus  engaged,  had  left  quite 
a  distance  between  herself  and  the  others.  Her  way 
led  past  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  at  one  extremity  of  which 
was  the  cave.  Here  she  moved  slowly,  gathering  moss 
from  the  gray  rock  at  her  side,  but  was  presently  star 
tled  at  hearing  voices  speaking  in  a  low  tone,  and,  ap 
parently,  very  near  to  her. 

She  was  a  thoroughly  courageous  girl,  and  not  easilj 
startled,  and  though  she  thought  that  none  of  her  own 
people  had  gone  in  this  particular  direction,  or  were 
so  near  to  her,  she  neither  ran  away  nor  cried  out,  but 
stood  still  where  she  was,  and  listened.  In  a  moment 
she  detected  that  the  words  spoken  were  English,  and 
the  next  that  the  speaker  was  Brownell. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  move  in  the  direction  whence 
the  sound  proceeded ;  but  then  the  name  of  Rafc 


336  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Slaughter,  coupled  with  an  adjective  which  was  nol 
complimentary,  changed  her  purpose.  Just  before  her, 
at  her  left  hand,  the  bluff  terminated  abruptly,  and  it 
was  from  around  the  corner  thus  formed  that  the  sound 
of  voices  proceeded. 

With  noiseless  steps  she  drew  near,  and  ensconced 
herself  behind  a  projecting  fragment  of  rock,  where  she 
was  hidden  perfectly,  and  would  be,  even  if  the  speaker 
and  the  one  whom  he  addressed  should  suddenly  con 
clude  to  return  to  the  cave.  In  this  position  she  heard 
at  length  what  occurred  between  the  two,  of  whom  the 
other  was  Hunter. 

"  Well,  you  may  like  it,  but  I  don't,"  were  the  first 
words  she  heard,  spoken  by  the  latter.  "  This  is  an  ugly 
job  you  have  got  on  hand,  and  if  it  was  me,  I  would 
not  have  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"  Well,  it  isn't  you,"  growled  the  other,  "  and  you 
needn't  have  anything  to  do  with  it,  except  to  hold 
your  tongue ;  and  if  you  ever  should  take  it  into  your 
head  not  to  do  that,  I  would  put  you  out  of  the  way, 
on  my  own  account,  quicker  than  I  would  this  fellow 
on  Stephen  Roberts'." 

"  How  much  are  you  going  to  get  for  the  job  ? " 
asked  Hunter,  paying  no  attention  to  this  threat. 

"  That  is  none  of  your  business.  It  will  be  enough 
to  set  me  up  for  the  rest  of  my  life,  or  I  would  not  un 
dertake  it." 

He  paused  an  instant,  and  then,  apparently  thinking 
his  manner  might  be  improved,  he  added  : 

"  J  have  taken  you  into  this  thing,  and  if  you  don'* 


DAXIEL  BOONE.  33; 

peach  on  me,  and  will  help  me  in  the  little  you  will 
have  to  do,  I  will  see  that  you  get  a  good  share,  and 
you  know  me  well  enough  to  be  sure  I  will  keep  my 
word." 

"  Yes,  you  ain't  given  to  lying  to  your  friends,  I  ad 
mit,  but  I  ain't  going  to  bloody  my  hands  for  Steve 
Roberts,  nor  you  neither." 

"  Nobody  asked  you  to.  I  can  attend  to  that  part 
of  it  myself.  What  I  shall  want  you  to  do,  if  I  want 
you  to  do  anything,  will  simply  be  to  back  me  up  in  case 
I  should  be  clumsy  about  it — which  ain't  likely — and  it 
should  come  to  a  general  rumpus.  If  we  are  smart, 
even  if  that  should  happen,  we  could  get  away  with  a 
few  hard  knocks,  and  there  ain't  anybody  in  this  crowd 
as  can  find  you  and  me  in  the  woods." 

"  Oh,  well ! "  said  Hunter  "  if  that  is  all  you  want, 
you  can  count  on  me.  I  won't  peach,  and  I  will  back 
you  up — there  is  my  hand  on  it." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  Maude 
heard  the  two  move  as  though  to  leave  the  spot  where 
they  were.  Fortunately  for  her,  they  did  not  pass  her 
place  of  hiding  on  their  return  to  the  cave,  but  went  ' 
straight  into  the  woods ;  and  when  Maude  had  found 
her  way  back  to  where  she  had  left  the  others,  they 
presently  came  in  with  Thomas  Hardeman  and  Rafe,  all, 
apparently,  on  the  best  of  terms. 

Maude  was  almost  ready  to  believe  that  her  ears  had 
deceived  her,  so  straightforward  and  friendly  was  the 
manner  of  these  two  men,  as,  indeed,  it  had  been  from 
the  beginning  of  their  association. 
15 


338  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  Of 

She  was  determined  to  tell  Rafe  what  she  had  htard 
but  a  complication  of  circumstances  prevented  her  do 
ing  so.  It  was  now  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  Rafe 
almost  immediately  left  the  others  to  go  out  on  watch  ; 
from  this  duty  he  did  not  return  until  nightfall,  and 
then,  aftei  having  eaten  his  supper,  he  went  immedi 
ately  forth  again  for  the  same  purpose,  accompanied  by 
Indian  John.  As  the  women  had  now  to  retire  to  their 
own  apartment,  Maude  perceived,  with  considerable 
anxiety,  that  she  would  have  no  opportunity  to  confer 
with  Rafe  until  the  following  day. 

For  some  hours,  under  the  influence  of  her  agitated 
reflections  on  the  discovery  of  treachery  among  them, 
sleep  absolutely  refused  to  visit  her.  Over  and  over 
again  she  revolved  in  her  mind  the  conversation  she 
had  overheard.  While  she  was  satisfied  from  the  nat 
ure  of  it  that  some  bloody  deed  was  contemplated  by 
Brownell,  she  could  not  be  quite  certain  as  to  its  ob 
ject,  though,  from  the  fact  of  Rafe  Slaughter's  name 
having  been  the  only  one  she  had  heard,  her  apprehen 
sions  were  naturally  turned  in  his  direction. 

Her  constant  association  with  Rafe  had  greatly  in 
creased  her  respect  and  regard  for  him,  and  now  she 
viewed  his  character  with  real  affection  as  well  as  ad 
miration.  To  her  the  idea  that  the  danger  which  he 
had  intuitively  felt  was  impending  over  him,  now 
shadowed  him  with  such  nearness  and  directness,  was 
positively  appalling.  Lying  thus  engaged  in  gloomy 
reflections,  while  her  two  companions  were  sleeping 
peacefully  near  her,  the  hours  passed  by. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  339 

It  was  nearing  midnight,  when  a  loud  cry  from  with 
out,  again  repeated,  roused  the  occupants  of  the  cave. 

Rafe  and  Indian  John  were  on  the  watch,  and,  en 
hearing  the  cry,  Hardeman,  Brownell,  and  the  othet 
two  men  sprang  from  their  sleep,  and  seizing  theii 
rifles,  rushed  from  the  cave  to  succor  their  comrades 
who  they  divined  must  be  in  peril,  and  the  cries  theii 
call  for  help. 

Emerging  from  the  underbrush  which  sheltered  the 
entrance,  the  ears  of  the  four  men  were  startled  by  a 
shrill  war-whoop,  and  they  knew  that  their  hiding-place 
had  been  discovered  by  their  dreaded  foe.  At  that  ma 
ment  a  dark  figure  came  running  toward  them.  It  was 
Rafe. 

"  Into  the  cave  !  into  the  cave  !  "  he  cried,  "  as  quick 
as  possible.  The  Indians  are  upon  us." 

The  others  turned  to  follow  his  advice,  but  it  was  too 
late. 

Through  the  thick  shadow  of  the  bushes,  illuminated 
only  a  little  by  the  stars,  they  could  see  a  dozen  or 
more  dark  figures,  and  at  once  recognized  how  hopeless 
it  would  be  to  retreat.  Raising  their  rifles,  all  four 
fired  at  once  into  the  mass  of  hurrying  figures,  and  with 
good  effect. 

The  charge  was  stopped,  the  Indians  evidently  being 
thunderstruck  at  meeting  with  such  prompt  resistance 
to  their  attack ;  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment. 

They  came  on  again,  but  now  Rafe,  who  had  not  yet 
fired,  brought  one  of  the  foremost  to  the  ground,  and 
then  he  and  Thomas  Hardernan,  who  were  provided  with 


340 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 


pistols,  discharged  these,  apparently  with  good  effect, 
thus  enabling  the  others  to  gain  access  into  the  cave, 
whither  they  retreated,  and  proceeded  immediately  to 
reload,  supposing  that  they  would  be  followed  by  the 
•>ther  two. 

But  before  Rafe  and  Hardeman  could  succeed  in 
reaching  the  entrance,  a  sudden  rush  was  made  by  the 
Indians,  and  though  Rafe  and  his  friend  fought  vali 
antly,  striking  right  and  left  with  the  butt  ends  of  their 
rifles,  it  was  apparent  that  the  unequal  contest  could 
not  last  many  minutes. 

Indeed,  a  few  of  the  Indians  were  already  sneaking 
around  to  get  behind  them,  and  in  another  moment 
their  lives  would  have  been  forfeited,  when  suddenly, 
and  as  it  seemed  from  three  different  points,  loud 
shouts  were  heard,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  dis 
charge  of  apparently  a  number  of  guns  announced  the 
interposition  of  help. 

The  Indians,  thus  unexpectedly  attacked,  and  in  doubt 
by  how  many  new  foes,  drew  back,  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  then,  with  loud  cries  of  rage  and  alarm,  precipi 
tately  fled. 

Rafe  dropped  the  butt  of  his  rifle  on  the  ground,  and, 
drawing  a  long  breath,  exclaimed  : 

"  For  God's  sake,  who  can  that  be  ! " 

At  the  same  moment  the  others,  who  had  now  re 
loaded  their  rifles,  appeared  from  the  cave. 

And  then,  from  three  directions,  could  be  seen  the 
forms  of  three  men  emerging  from  the  woods. 

A§  they  ^rew  near,  Rafe  shguted,^ "  \Vho's  there  ?  n> 


DANIEL  BOONE.  341 

A  stentorian  voice  replied,  "  Friends !"  and  as  the 
speaker,  the  foremost  of  the  three,  advanced,  in  the  ding 
light  Rafe  recognized  him,  and,  crying,  "  DANIEL 
BOONE ! "  sprang  forward  and  grasped  the  hardy 
hunter  by  both  hands  as  he  welcomed  him,  and 
thanked  him  for  his  timely  appearance. 

The  noise  of  the  fight  had  long  before  this  brought 
Maude  and  Mademoiselle  to  as  near  the  mouth  of  the 
cave  as  they  dared  to  approach. 

By  the  various  movements  and  sounds  which  she 
heard,  Maude  had  dimly  divined  that  some  interposition 
from  outside  had  brought  safety  to  their  party ;  and 
crouching  down  by  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  she  listened 
intently. 

Suddenly  her  ear  caught  Rafe's  enthusiastic  cry  of, 
"  DANIEL  BOONE  ! " 

In  an  instant  the  girl  darted  from  the  cave,  and  fly 
ing  past  the  excited  group  before  it,  and  past  Daniel 
Boone  himself,  she  sprang,  as  though  recognizing  the 
dark  figure  by  instinct,  into  the  arms  of  the  second  of 
the  three  men,  who  had  now  just  reached  the  scene. 

It  was  indeed  Harry. 

The  excitement  of  this  meeting,  after  months  of 
weary  waiting  and  anxiety,  overcame  the  girl  with  a 
flood  of  irrepressible  feeling  ;  and,  bowing  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder  as  he  clasped  her  close  to  his  breast» 
she  wept  aloud  in  an  agony  of  passionate  delight  and 
uncontrollable  love. 

Still  holding  her  closely  to  him,  Harry  received  the 
salutations  of  Rafe  and  Thomas  Hardeman,  to  which 


342  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

were  speedily  added  the  enthusiastic  demonstrations,  ol 
Mike  Dooley,  who  danced  about  in  a  wild  outburst  of 
excitement,  while  Mademoiselle  Raimonde  and  Rose 
were  not  behindhand  in  their  expressions  of  the  general 

joy- 
But,  turning  suddenly  to  Rafe,  as  he  stood  eagerly 
asking  and  answering  questions,  Daniel  Boone  said  : 

"  Who  were  those  two  men  who  stood  here  as  1 
came  up?" 

Rafe  looked  about  him  ;  and  then,  surprised  at  not 
seeing  them,  replied  : 

"  Why,  they  must  have  been  Brownell  and  Hunter." 
"  Brownell  and   Hunter  !  "  repeated   Boone  ;    "  how 
came  they  here  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Rafe,  "  they  joined  us  a  few  weeks  ago  ; 
and  have  been  very  useful  and  obliging,  besides  strength 
ening  our  party  two  or  three  times,  when  we  should 
have  been  badly  off  without  them." 

"  Brownell  and  Hunter ! "  Boone  again  repeated  ; 
"  why,  these  two  men  were  with  the  crowd  that  first 
captured  me  as  I  was  going  home  with  my  boy  Jimmy 
from  Hillsborough  !" 

The  others  stood  astounded  ;  while  to  Maude,  who, 
as  we  have  told,  had  not  yet  communicated  her  own 
knowledge  concerning  them  to  any  one,  the  statement 
was  a  revelation. 

"  But  where  are  they  ?  "  cried  Rafe  ;  and  the  others 
shouted  aloud  the  names  of  these  two,  who  had  disap 
peared  as  though  they  had  been  swallowed  up  by  the 
earth, 


DANIEL  BOONS.  343 

No  answer  came  back,  and  though  an  immediate 
search  of  the  cave  and  the  neighborhood  was  made 
they  were  not  to  be  found. 

"  They  got   away  when  they  saw  me,"  said  Boo;.£ 
quietly,  after  the  search  had  been  given  up,  "  and  they 
did  well." 

Whatever  may  have  been  their  reasons  for  departure, 
Brewnell  and  Hunter  were  not  seen  again. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  death  of  Indian  John.  The  mode  of  travel  is  changed,  giving  an  opr** 
tunity  for  reflection,  which  is  taken  advantage  of  by  certain  of  the  chara'Jten 
of  our  story.  The  travelers  reach  the  last  stage  of  their  journey. 

A  FURTHER  examination  of  the  number  of  those 
present,  after  the  absence  of  Brownell  and  Hunter  had 
been  discovered,  disclosed  the  fact  that  there  was  still 
one  missing — the  Indian  guide,  who  had  been  out  with 
Rafe  and  Hardeman,  and,  as  they  had  supposed,  had 
come  in  when  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  Indians 
had  alarmed  all  three.  No  one  had  seen  him  since, 
however,  and  a  search  was  accordingly  at  once  insti 
tuted  for  his  body,  it  being  rightly  judged  that,  if  he 
had  been  alive,  he  would  have  made  his  appearance,  or 
would  have  responded  when  their  calls  were  made  for 
the  two  missing  frontiersmen.  After  a  search  which 
lasted  some  minutes,  and  in  which  all  the  men  were  en 
gaged,  Mike  Dooley  cried  out,  as  he  stumbled  over 
something,  and  fell  prostrate  : 

"  Tearan'  ages  !  here  is  somebody's  corpus." 
The  others  at  once  joined  him,  and  on  Boone  strik 
ing  a  light  from  his  tinder-box,  it  was  discovered  that 
the  body  over  which  Mike  Dooley  had  fallen,  was  really 
that  of  the  unfortunate  guide,  who  was  stone  dead, 
with  a  bullet  through  his  heart ;  while  the  work  had 
(344) 


DANIEL  BOONS.  345 

been  completed  by  the  Indians,  for  his  scalp  had  been 
taken. 

"  That  shows  one  thing,"  said  Boone. 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  Harry. 

"  Why,  that  the  fellows  that  attacked  you  were  not 
Cherokees,  as  I  had  supposed  ;  if  they  had  been,  al 
though  they  might  have  shot  this  man,  either  by  acci 
dent  or  intentionally — considering  hin%a  deserter  from 
the  tribe,  still  they  would  not  have  scalped  him.  These 
must  have  been  Shawnees." 

The  bodies  of  six  or  eight  of  their  assailants  were 
lying  about  at  different  points,  where  they  had  fallen 
beneath  the  fire  of  the  white  men.  An  examination  of 
these  confirmed  his  opinion  that  they  were  certainly 
Shawnees.  Indian  John  was  regretted  as  a  faithful 
servant ;  his  position  among  the  party  had  been  a  very 
modest  and  quiet  one,  but  he  had  not  the  less  fulfilled 
his  duty  in  every  particular.  There  was  no  time  to 
bury  him,  as  they  would  have  wished  to  do,  and  he  was 
accordingly  left  where  he  fell. 

It  was,  indeed,  judged  by  Boone  to  be  advisable  that 
a  movement  should  be  made  at  once  away  from  their 
present  locality.  The  Indians  were  not  unlikely  to 
keep  a  lookout  after  they  had  got  over  their  first  alarm, 
and  would  very  probably  return  in  force.  In  this  opin- 
ion  Rafe  Slaughter  concurred,  as  did  the  others.  That 
there  might  be  no  misunderstanding  thereafter,  Rafe 
requested  Boone  tc  assume  the  direction  of  the  party 
during  their  return  journey,  which  the  hunter,  after  de 
murring  a  little,  consented  to  do. 
'5* 


346  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Their  various  luggage  was  now  quickly  put  together 
and  the  men  having  shouldered  their  knapsacks,  and 
giving  such  aid  to  the  women  as  was  necessary  to  en- 
ible  them  to  move  rapidly  through  the  woods  in  the 
darkness,  they  were  soon  making  speedy  progress  in  the 
direction  whither  lay  all  their  desires.  Dawn  soon  broke, 
and  when  the  sun  rose,  they  were  several  miles  away  from 
the  scene  of  their  late  exciting  combat  and  reunion. 

While  looking  for  a  convenient  place  at  which  to 
camp  and  take  breakfast,  Boone  suddenly  discovered 
on  the  stream  immediately  under  the  bank,  and  tied  to 
trees,  three  birch-bark  canoes,  with  paddles  in  them. 

They  had  evidently  been  left  there  by  some  small 
band  of  Indians  ;  and  as  these  might  be  near  by,  and 
the  use  of  the  canoes  would  greatly  facilitate  their 
movements,  breakfast  was  postponed  for  the  time  be 
ing,  and  the  party  at  once  stowed  themselves  away 
in  the  canoes.  Boone,  Hardeman,  and  Mademoiselle 
Raimonde  taking  the  first  one ;  Harry,  Maude,  and  the 
negro  girl  the  second ;  and  Rafe,  Squire  Boone,  and 
Mike  Dooley  the  third.  Thus  embarked  they  proceeded 
to  paddle  up  the  stream,  a  task  which,  there  being  little 
current,  was  not  in  the  least  difficult. 

They  now  made  rapid  progress,  and  Boone,  who 
knew  the  nature  of  the  waters  they  were  navigating, 
stated  that  they  would  be  able  to  travel  at  least  thirty 
or  forty  miles  by  this  mode,  thus  saving  much  fatigue, 
besides  effecting  a  change  in  their  mode  of  transporta 
tion,  which  was  eminently  agreeable,  especially  to  the 
ladies. 


DANIEL  BOONE.  347 

After  paddling  for  an  hour,  a  point  was  selected 
where  they  could  stop  for  breakfast,  and  all  disem 
barked  for  that  purpose.  While  they  were  eating 
they  had  an  opportunity  for  a  general  conversation 
regarding  recent  events,  which  their  hurried  move 
ments  and  after-separation  in  the  canoes  had  hitherto 
prevented. 

"  By  the  way,  Boone,"  said  Rafe,  after  the  huntef 
and  Harry  had  related  their  adventures  briefly,  "  how 
did  you  come  by  the  rifles  with  which  you  did  such 
execution  last  night,  when  you  were  left  without  arms 
on  the  occasion  of  your  escape  ?" 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  that  question  myself,"  said 
Maude,  "  for  it  did  not  seem  likely,  although  a  kind 
Providence  might  bring  you  almost,  as  it  were,  out  of 
the  ground,  to  our  rescue,  that  the  same  power  would 
also  arm  and  equip  you  for  the  purpose." 

"  I  had  forgotten  about  that,"  said  Boone,  "  and  it 
was  too  ridiculous  and  unexpected  not  to  be  remem 
bered  ;  but  I  think  I  have  talked  long  enough,  and  Mr 
Calvert  can  tell  you  about  it." 

Harry  thus  appealed  to,  laughed,  and  said  :  "  Well, 
you  must  know  we  were  several  days  without  arms,  and 
actually  did  have  to  rely  upon  such  wild  fruits  and  edi 
ble  roots  as  we  could  get  about  in  the  woods.  If  I  had 
been  alone,  I  would  have  starved  to  death,  but  Boone 
and  his  brother  could  find  something  to  eat  under 
almost  every  plant  that  grows  in  this  region,  I  think. 
I  had  no  idea  before  how  many  roots  there  were  that 
really  don't  make  b^d  eating  for  a  hungry'  man." 


348  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

"  You  must  have  been  very  hungry,  I  think,  to  want 
to  eat  them,"  said  Maude. 

"  Well,  we  did  get  hungry  from  time  to  time,"  re 
plied  Harry,  "  but  they  are  not  disagreeable,  I  can  as 
sure  you  ;  quite  as  good  as  raw  turnips  and  carrots — 
some  of  them,  to  say  the  least.  But  we  got  rifles  and 
ammunition,  as  it  happened,  from  the  very  party  that 
surprised  you  ;  and  the  way  of  it  was  this  : 

"  We  were  marching  along  in  the  early  morning — 
for  I  assure  you  that  hunger  made  us  rise  before  the 
sun  —  when  we  suddenly  came  upon  a  considerable 
camp,  which  must  certainly  have  been  of  those  very 
Indians. 

"  It  was  just  at  the  time  of  day  when  they  probably 
felt  most  secure,  and  relaxed  their  vigilance.  Anyhow, 
there  was  not  a  man  of  them  awake  out  of  about 
thirty  warriors,  and  Boone,  having  satisfied  himself  of 
this,  crawled  on  his  hands  and  knees  into  the  midst  of 
them,  and  selected  three  rifles,  with  powder  and  balls, 
returning  safely  to  us  with  his  booty. 

"  You  may  be  sure  that  we  did  not  lose  any  time  in 
getting  away  from  that  locality.  We  made  a  wide  cir 
cuit  ;  and  to  that  fact,  and  to  our  having  been  captured 
and  brought  to  this  side  of  the  river,  is  due  our  appear 
ance  in  time  to  save  and  unite  with  you." 

The  glance  which  passed  between  Maude  and  Harry 
at  these  words,  and  the  heightened  color  of  the  girl, 
showed  that  they  at  least  of  the  party  fully  estimated 
the  incident  at  its  true  value.  All  laughed  at  the  suc 
cessful  stratagem,  and  congratulated  themselves  an  the 


DANIEL  800NE. 

happy  accident  which  had  done  such  good  service  to 
all  of  them. 

The  story  of  Boone's  party  having  been  related,  Rafe 
briefly  outlined  that  of  those  whom  he  had  under  his 
charge;  and  this  being  concluded,  and  the  question  of 
Brownell  and  Hunter's  disappearance  coming  up,  Maude 
took  the  opportunity  to  tell  the  story  of  the  conversation 
she  had  overheard.  Her  relation  was  listened  to  close 
ly,  and  made  a  deep  impression  on  all  who  heard  it. 

After  she  had  finished,  Boone  said  :  "  Well,  these 
fellows  are,  either  of  them,  equal  to  any  villainous  con 
trivance,  but  I  could  easily  recognize  in  this  one  the 
hand  of  Stephen  Roberts.  There  is  no  doubt  in  my 
mind  that  he  arranged  the  plot  by  which  his  men  suc 
ceeded  in  capturing  and  imprisoning  me ;  and  this  man 
Brownell  was  with  the  original  gang,  although  he  and 
one  or  two  others  left  them  as  soon  as  they  had  safely 
placed  me  where  I  was  found.  Why  he  should  now 
have  it  in  his  mind  to  do  anything  to  Mr.  Slaughter,  I 
can  not  imagine ;  nor  why  Stephen  Roberts  should 
have  anything  against  him.  Perhaps  you  will  under 
stand  that,"  he  continued,  addressing  Rafe,  "  better 
than  I  will." 

Rafe  Slaughter  had  been  a  silent,  but  attentive  list 
ener  to  Maude's  story,  and  Boone's  comments.  He 
remembered  the  paper  which  he  still  had  in  his  posses 
sion  that  had  been  found  by  Rose,  and  given  to  him, 
and  which  contained  his  name  and  that  of  Harry  Cal- 
vert.  He  had  kept  silence  hitherto  with  regard  to  this 
paper,  and  he  determined  still  to  do  so  ;  and  this  'lot 


350  fJtE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

on  account  of  himself,  but  because  of  the  complication 
of  his  friend  with  his  own  possible  fate,  as  this  was  af 
fected  by  the  strange  circumstances  which  had  occurred, 
All  he  said  now  in  answer  to  Boone's  last  observation, 
was :  "  I  don't  know  why  this  man  Roberts  should  think 
he  had  anything  against  me.  I  don't  even  know  him, 
though  I  have  seen  him  a  number  of  times  ;  and  I  cer 
tainly  have  never  done  or  said  anything  to  harm  him." 

"  He  impressed  me,"  observed  Harry,  "  at  my  inter 
view  with  him,  as  being  an  unscrupulous  and  at  the 
same  time  shrewd  and  capable  man.  I  know  I  thought 
at  the  time  that  I  should  hate  to  have  him  for  an 
enemy  ;  though  I  will  say  that  his  treatment  of  me 
was  courteous,  and  not  in  the  least  unfriendly.  Of 
course  he  did  not  disclose  to  me  what  I  desired  to 
learn,  but  that  was  in  his  own  interest,  and  I  can't 
blame  him." 

Having  lingered  longer  than  was  actually  necessary 
over  their  breakfast,  while  engaged  in  discussing  the 
exciting  events  which  had  happened  to  all  of  them, 
Boone  now  gave  the  word  to  proceed  ;  and,  entering 
the  canoes,  they  continued  their  journey  by  the  river, 
paddling  all  that  day.  The  evening  found  them  yet  in 
comparatively  still  water,  and  as  this  mode  of  progres 
sion  seemed  to  promise  the  most  security  from  inter 
ruption  on  the  part  of  straggling  bands  of  Indians, 
Boone  determined  to  continue  their  journey  by  the 
same  means  through  the  night. 

They  landed  for  supper,  of  which  they  partook  in 
the  twilight,  ani  at  which  they  had  fresh  meat  for  the 


DANIEL  BO  ONE.  351 

first  time  in  several  days.  It  was  considered  safe  foi 
them  to  use  their  rifles  in  their  present  situation,  and  a 
fat  buck  being  discovered  coming  down  to  the  water 
to  drink,  Boone  mortally  wounded  him  with  a  single 
shot,  and  then  paddling  quickly  to  his  side,  where  he 
was  struggling  in  the  water,  drew  his  knife  across  his 
throat,  and  dragged  the  body  ashore. 

Venison  steaks  had  begun  to  appear  a  luxury  to  the 
travelers,  and  haste  was  now  made  to  kindle  a  fire,  and 
partake  of  the  treat.  A  satisfactory  meal  having  been 
dispatched,  they  returned  to  their  canoes,  and  pro 
ceeded  on  their  way. 

The  stream  was  at  this  point  several  hundred  yards 
wide,  the  banks  overhung  with  tall  trees  and  shrubbery, 
that  indicated  the  beginning  of  the  dense  forest  beyond. 
The  sky  was  brilliant  with  stars  :  the  air  cool  and  invig 
orating,  but  not  chilly ;  and  under  the  influence  of  their 
surroundings,  and  cheered  by  their  reflections  on  their 
happy  reunion,  and  the  prospect  of  a  speedy  return  to 
civilization,  the  progress  of  the  travelers  was  both  rapid 
and  enjoyable. 

To  Maude,  especially,  there  had  come  a  spirit  of  calm 
content  and  tranquillity. 

Reclining  at  one  end  of  the  canoe,  she  watched  the 
form  of  her  lover  outlined  against  the  brilliant  sky,  as 
with  deft  and  muscular  strokes  he  propelled  the  light 
boat  with  his  paddle.  The  recollection  of  the  trials 
and  dangers  through  which  she  had  passed  seemed  grad 
ually  fading  from  her  mind.  True  love,  when  satisfied 
by  the  possession,  if  only  temporarily,  of  its  object  is  9 


352  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

quick  obliterator  of  the  memory  of  past  sorrows  and 
disappointments. 

But  little  conversation  passed  between  them,  but 
sven  their  silence  was  eloquent.  Harry  Calvert, 
strengthened  and  ennobled  by  his  recent  experience^ 
ound  a  wise  satisfaction  in  reflecting  with  honest  pride 
that  he  was  more  worthy  of  the  girl  he  loved  after  these 
experiences,  than  he  had  been  before. 

The  prime  object  of  Boone's  journey,  so  far  as  the 
interest  of  Judge  Anderson  and  his  friends  was  concern 
ed,  Harry  knew  had  been  satisfactorily  effected. 

Although  it  has  not  been  deemed  necessary  to  make 
special  reference  to  the  fact,  the  reader  is  not  to  sup 
pose  that  the  peregrinations  of  these  two  had  consisted 
only  in  looking  for  the  party  which  had  followed  them 
into  the  woods ;  or  in  aimless  travel  from  day  to 
day. 

Never  had  the  design  of  the  undertaking  been  lost 
sight  of  for  a  moment. 

The  country  through  which  they  passed  had  been 
thoroughly  explored  by  Boone  and  his  companion,  and 
both  were  prepared  to  make  such  a  report  to  Judge 
Anderson,  when  they  should  see  him,  as  should  confirm 
previous  opinions  with  regard  to  that  territory,  and  his 
own  conclusions  as  to  locating  there. 

All  of  this  passed  through  Harry's  mind  as  he  sat  in 
the  canoe,  propelling  it  easily  and  gracefully  in  the 
wake  of  the  one  in  which  was  his  late  companion. 

Meanwhile,  the  soft  and  tender  glances,  which  the 
starlight  occasionally  permitted  him  to  receive  from 


DANIEL  BOONE.  353 

Maude's  bright  eyes,  carried  his  mind  forward  to  the 
possible  results  of  this  journey. 

In  his  imagination  he  already  saw  himself  a  landed 
proprietor  in  the  midst  of  the  magnificent  expanse  of 
fertile  territory  which  they  had  traversed  successfully 
and  securely. 

Often  he  had  conversed  with  Daniel  Boone  on  the 
subject  of  the  eventual  results  of  their  mission ;  and 
from  him  and  through  his  experience  he  had  received 
confirmation  of  his  own  ideas. 

For  when  Harry  would  give  expression  to  the  doubts 
which  sometimes  suggested  themselves  to  his  mind,  as 
to  the  possibility  of  clearing  so  wide  a  territory  of  the 
Indians  who  now  infested  it,  Boone  was  always  ready 
with  his  answer. 

Pointing  to  his  own  experience  on  the  Yadkin,  he 
would  remind  Harry,  that  when  he  arrived  there,  a 
mere  lad,  with  his  father,  that  section  of  the  country 
was  overrun  by  hostile  Indians  to  quite  the  same  ex 
tent  as  the  locality  they  had  so  recently  traversed  ;  and 
yet  it  ^ad  been  but  a  few  years  before  their  settlement 
was  followed  by  others,  and  the  hostile  natives  had 
either  to  migrate  or  to  become  peaceable  and  friendly. 

Consoled  by  the  remembrance  of  such  conversations 
with  the  experienced  hunter  and  explorer,  Harry  could 
now  give  rein  to  his  imagination,  and  in  his  mind's  eye 
see  himself  securely  established  in  this  now  dangerous 
country,  with  the  girl  he  loved  really  his  own,  and  the 
successful  and  happy  life  of  a  great  planter  and  land 
hplder  opening  up  before  him  in  the  distance. 


354  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

While  the  reflections  of  Maude  and  her  lover  had 
been  thus  rose-colored,  those  of  Rafe  Slaughter,  who 
took  turns  with  Squire  Boone  in  paddling  the  last  of 
the  three  canoes,  were  of  a  very  different  nature. 

Notwithstanding  the  departure  of  Brownell  and  Hun- 
ter  from  among  them,  and  the  apparent  removal  of  the 
danger,  which  was  now  recognized,  although  before  un 
known  to  him  ;  there  still  hung  over  Rafe's  mind  the 
same  cloud  of  gloomy  presentiment  which  had  for  so 
long  a  time  disturbed  him,  and  which  now,  as  before, 
seemed  to  presage  disaster.  Reason  with  himself  as  he 
might, -he  could  not  remove  this  painful  impression,  and 
his' thoughts  were  consequently  sad  and  disturbing. 

Judge  Anderson's  secretary  had,  in  this  period  of 
close  and  increasing  intimacy  with  his  companions, 
grown  to  regard  them  with  friendship  and  affection. 
Maude  he  loved  more  than  most  men  do  their  sisters, 
though  with  a  totally  different  kind  of  regard  from 
that  of  a  lover,  while  for  Harry  he  felt  profound  affec 
tion  and  esteem. 

To  him  the  mere  thought  that  presently  this  excur 
sion  would  end — despite  its  many  dangers  and  alarm 
ing  circumstances — the  thought  that  it  was  now  speed 
ily  to  close  was  one  that  could  not  but  affect  him 
painfully. 

Aware  that  soon  all  these  persons,  who  were  now 
united  by  a  bond  of  interest  and  sympathetic  commun 
ion,  each  and  all  would  depart  on  their  several  ways 
to  take  up  their  several  threads  of  life,  leaving  him  to  a 
great  extent  out  of  their  futuro,  and  alone ;  all  of  this 


DAtilEL  &OONE.  355 

gave  him  a  sensation  of  impending  solitude,  which  was 
to  the  last  degree  depressing. 

It  was  almost  in  the  light  of  consolation  that  his 
mind  accepted  the  prescience  o£  coming  evil  which 
seemed  to  assure  him  that  a  kind  Providence  might  at 
cast  find  a  way  for  him  to  escape  a  future  which 
seemed  to  offer  no  compensation  adequate  for  the  loss 
which  the  present,  almost,  had  in  store  for  him. 

There  were,  too,  crossing  Rafe  Slaughter's  mind, 
thoughts  and  intentions,  dimly  outlined,  to  which  he 
had  never  yet  given  voice. 

The  secret  history  of  his  past  life,  as  he  supposed,  was 
unknown  to  any,  at  least  in  this  part  of  the  world,  but 
himself ;  and  so  the  designs  which  he  had  formed,  and 
now  cherished  as  the  only  bright  hope  to  illuminate  his 
future :  these  were  also  locked  within  his  own  breast, 
and  gave  him  ample  food  for  reflection. 

There  were  links  in  the  chain  of  circumstances  which 
united  him  with  certain  of  his  companions,  the  exist 
ence  of  which  was  unknown  to  them  ;  and  he  was  now 
impressed  with  the  necessity  of  strengthening  these, 
and  of  at  least  initiating  the  purposes  which  it  was 
essential  should  be  carried  out  in  order  to  achieve  this 
end. 

As  he  paused  for  a  moment  in  directing  the  course 
of  the  canoe  to  rest  himself  and  change  his  position, 
he  instinctively  placed  his  hand  in  the  pocket  of  the 
waistcoat  which  he  wore  under  his  hunting-shirt,  and  felt 
there  two  papers  :  One,  the  fragment  which  had  been 
given  to  him  by  Rose  ;  the  other  a  larger  and  thicker 


3  §6  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

sheet,  whose  folded  proportions  he  carefully  outlines 
with  his  ringers,  as  he  had  done  many  times  before,  to 
satisfy  himself  of  its  safety. 

What  that  paper  Contained  was  a  secret  which  still 
rested  alone  in  the  knowledge  of  Rafe  Slaughter. 

While  the  personages  whose  thoughts  we  have  been 
analyzing  were  thus  engaged,  the  progress  of  the  ca 
noes  had  been  speedy,  and  the  nature  of  the  stream 
up  which  they  were  being  propelled  had  materially 
changed. 

The  current  had  become  more  rapid,  the  width  of 
the  stream  had  lessened,  and  shallows  occasionally 
appeared  ;  and  large  boulders,  seemingly  dropped  ii 
the  midst  of  the  water,  impeded  their  progress,  while 
the  stream  dashed  with  considerable  force  between 
them.  Careful  steering  was  now  necessary,  and  this 
was  aided  by  the  dawn  which  had  begun  to  break. 

By  this  time  Maude  and  Mademoiselle  were  sleeping 
profoundly  in  their  several  canoes,  while  Rose  had  been 
snoring  loudly  almost  from  the  beginning  of  the  trip. 
Mike  Dooley,  too,  after  sundry  comments  on  the  In 
dian  method  of  river  travel,  which  was  new  to  him — 
these  being  delivered  in  the  choicest  and  most  original 
phrases  of  his  vernacular — he  also  had  succumbed  to 
the  drowsy  god,  and  was  adding  his  mite  of  nasal  elo 
quence  to  render  still  more  musical  the  concerted 
pieces  which  were  being  executed  by  the  bull-frogs 
and  owls. 

The  other  men  of  the  party  had  kept  awake  ;  only 
those  not  engaged  in  paddling  occasionally  dozing  a 


DANIEL  BOONS.  357 

little.  As  the  obstructions  in  the  way  increased,  and 
navigation  began  to  appear  even  dangerous,  Boone  de 
cided  to  give  it  up  and  take  to  the  shore  again.  They 
accordingly  paddled  in  to  the  land,  where  there  ap 
peared  to  be  a  favorable  spot  for  that  purpose,  and 
disembarked. 

It  was  by  this  time  sunrise,  and  a  hurried  meal  from 
a  portion  of  the  venison  which  they  had  brought  with 
them,  soon  placed  the  travelers  in  a  condition  to  pro 
ceed  on  their  march  with  revived  strength  and  energy. 
Boone  judged  that  they  were  now  but  about  a  day's 
journey  from  the  pass  through  which  he  purposed  go 
ing,  and  in  their  progress  toward  which  they  had  already 
reached  a  point  nearly  at  the  foot  of  the  Cumberland 
range,  whose  elevated  peaks  now  towered  high  above 
them. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


the  sublimest  efforts  of  Nature,  in  rugged  rode  and  riven  mountain* 
chain,  our  travelers  pursue  their  way,  joyfully.  Then,  all  is  changed  ;  and 
lingering  by  the  bank  of  a  chance  stream,  the  blow  falls  ;  their  happiness  is 
turned  to  mourning,  and  Rafe  Slaughter's  premonitions  come  to  pass. 

THE  Cumberland  mountains,  a  spur  of  the  Appala 
chian  range,  dividing  Kentucky  from  Virginia,  and  ex 
tending  into  Tennessee,  present  some  of  the  most  pict 
uresque  scenery  in  America. 

The  general  appearance  of  this  mountain  range  is 
that  of  a  somewhat  level  plateau  lying  about  two  thou 
sand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  broken  at  intervals  by  lofty 
peaks  and  abrupt  bluffs  and  promontories. 

At  certain  points  the  range  is  intersected  by  passes, 
or  as  they  are  termed,  "  gaps,"  through  which  are  the 
only  convenient  means  of  passage  from  one  side  to  the 
other.  Of  these  passes,  that  known  as  Cumberland 
Gap,  near  the  southern  extremity  of  the  range,  was 
the  earliest  used,  and  has  always  been  the  most  fre 
quented. 

Here  was  the  customary  road  followed  by  the  Chero- 
kecs  in  the  earliest  times,  and  this  was  also  adopted  by 
the  traders  who  penetrated  the  southwest,  following 
the  pioneers  and  frontiersmen  who  opened  up  this  sec 
tion  of  country. 
(358) 


DANIEL  BOONE.  359 

The  course  being  pursued  by  our  party,  now  so  con 
siderably  increased  in  strength  if  not  in  numbeis,  was 
in  the  direction  of  a  pass  extending  through  the  mount 
ains  at  a  point  about  eighty  miles  north  of  Cumberland 
Gap. 

As  Boone  had  anticipated,  a  single  day's  journey 
brought  them  to  the  entrance  to  this  pass.  It  was  but 
little  frequented,  and  that  little  only  by  the  Indians 
and  occasionally  a  few  traders. 

Entering  it  from  the  west  the  route  assumed  at  once 
a  steepness  of  incline  and  a  wild  and  romantic  aspect, 
which  as  the  travelers  progressed  grew  to  be  grand  in 
the  extreme. 

The  pathway,  which  was  but  little  improved  from  its 
natural  configuration,  extended  along  the  side  of  a  pre 
cipitous  rocky  declivity,  and  above  it  on  either  hand 
almost  perpendicular  masses  of  rock  towered  many  hun 
dred  and  in  some  instances  several  thousand  feet  in  the 
air.  In  all  directions  the  characteristics  of  the  scene 
were  gloomy  and  almost  solemn.  There  was  but  little 
verdure  and  no  vegetation,  excepting  here  and  there 
clumps  of  rugged  ash  or  hickory  trees,  while,  on  either 
hand,  rocks  in  massive  and  uncouth  shapes  disputed 
the  way. 

Alternately  climbing  and  descending  as  the  available 
pathway  varied  in  its  incline,  the  labor  of  this  part  o, 
the  journey  was  irksome,  although,  of  course,  every 
assistance  was  given  by  the  men  to  the  women  in  their 
charge. 

TO  Harry  Calvert  it  was  a  delight  to  render  the  serv- 


360  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

ice  to  Maude  which  was  so  constantly  required,  while 
the  tedious  and  toilsome  character  of  the  journey  be 
came  changed  to  her  mental  vision  until  it  assumed 
the  nature  of  a  holiday  jaunt — in  which  she  felt  herself 
sustained  and  aided  by  the  sympathetic  association 
which  grew  more  delightful  with  every  moment  of  her 
enjoyment  of  it. 

Two  days  were  occupied  in  the  passage  of  this  gap  ; 
one  night  being  passed  within  its  limits.  It  was  about 
noon  on  the  third  day  when  the  tired  travelers  emerged 
from  the  pass  and  entered  the  Province  of  Virginia. 
During  that  afternoon  and  night  they  encamped  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountains,  resting  and  regaining  strength 
for  the  remainder  of  their  journey. 

On  the  following  morning  all  were  up  betimes,  much 
refreshed,  and  as  each  felt  more  and  more  anxious  to 
reach  the  settlements,  as  each  day  brought  these  nearer 
to  them,  there  was  no  delay,  but  an  early  start  was 
effected  and  rapid  progress  made. 

The  line  of  march  was  still  through  a  rugged  coun 
try  ;  but,  after  what  they  had  so  recently  passed,  was 
comparatively  easy.  On  the  second  day  after  leaving 
the  pass  they  arrived,  toward  sundown,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Clinch  River,  where  they  encamped  for  the 
night. 

It  was  not  yet  dusk,  and  while  the  camp  was  being 
prepared  and  the  fire  built,  Rafe  Slaughter,  who  for  the 
last  few  days  had  been  more  than  usually  oppressed  by 
the  gloomy  frame  of  mind  which  had  so  much  influ 
enced  him  of  late,  left  the  others  of  the  party,  and 


DANIEL  BOONE.  361 

strolled  a  short  distance  along  the  bank  of  the  river 
wrapped  in  his  own  melancholy  thoughts.  A  good 
deal  overcome  by  these,  at  length  he  threw  himself  on 
the  ground  at  the  foot  of  a  large  tree,  and  gazed  list 
lessly  into  the  water. 

Thus  preoccupied  he  saw  and  heard  nothing  of  what 
was  proceeding  about  him. 

He  did  not  hear  the  crackling  of  the  underbrush  be 
hind  him,  as  though  by  the  stealthy  movement  of  some 
one  in  his  direction.  He  did  not  see  the  crouching  form 
of  one  who  approached  him,  his  steps  carefully  meas 
ured  and  adjusted  to  produce  the  least  noise  possible. 

The  man  was  clad  in  the  ordinary  garb  of  a  hunter. 
In  his  right  hand  he  held  his  hunting-knife,  with  his 
left  he  carefully  pushed  aside  the  overhanging  boughs 
that  might  impede  his  progress,  or  by  breaking  or 
cracking  announce  his  presence.  Despite  all  his  care 
the  sound  of  his  approach  would  have  undoubtedly 
reached  the  usually  quick  ear  of  Judge  Anderson's  sec 
retary  but  for  the  engrossed  state  of  his  mind. 

The  man  was  Brownell. 

His  face  was  pale  and  his  jaws  set  as  though  with 
determination,  and  now  there  was  an  expression  in  his 
countenance  brutal  and  malign,  which  one  seeing  would 
have  declared  to  have  been  his  natural  aspect,  rathei 
than  the  hearty  and  friendly  appearance  which  he  gen 
erally  assumed. 

Thus  crouching  and  creeping,  and  guarding  himself 
from  discovery,  he  approached  nearer  and  nearer,  until 
fyis  left  hand  rested  upon  the  tree  against  which  Raf? 


362  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

leaned.  For  a  few  seconds  he  stood  perfectly  still 
Then,  bending  his  form  about  the  tree,  he  raised  his 
right  hand  in  the  air.  In  a  moment  the  blow  fell.  The 
long  bright,  sharp  blade  flashed  for  an  instant,  and  then 
:t  was  buried  to  the  handle  in  the  bosom  of  his  victim. 

Rafe  Slaughter  possessed  a  vigorous  constitution  and 
a  powerful  physique.  This  was  a  death-blow,  yet  he  had 
strength  to  rise  and  turn  about,  while  he  clung  to  the 
tree  with  his  right  arm  for  support.  The  movement 
was  instantaneous,  and  brought  him  face  to  face  with 
his  slayer. 

Then  a  shrill  cry  broke  from  his  lips,  blood  gurgled 
from  his  mouth,  and  sinking  gradually  down,  he  fell  in 
a  heap,  prostrate  at  the  foot  of  the  tree. 

Certain  that  his  work  was  completed,  and  fearful  lest 
the  cry  of  the  murdered  man,  though  it  was  not  a  loud 
one,  should  have  been  heard,  the  murderer  left  the  spot 
and  fled  through  the  woods  to  where  his  companion 
was  awaiting  him  holding  in  his  hands  their  two  rifles. 

"  Give  me  my  gun  and  hurry  !  "  cried  Brownell  as  he 
reached  him. 

"  Is  it  done  ?  "  said  the  other,  as  he  extended  his  rifle 
toward  him. 

"  Of  course  it  is  done,  you  infernal  fool ! ' 

And  then  the  two  with  rapid  steps  pushed  along  the 
path  which  lay  before  them,  but  only  for  a  few  moments. 

Suddenly,  on  turning  a  sharp  corner,  to  their  aston 
ishment  and  alarm  they  found  themselves  confronted 
by  a  number  of  horsemen. 

The  unexpectedness  of  the  meeting  startled  both  of 


DANIEL  BOONE.  363 

them  out  of  their  equanimity,  and  their  manner  was  so 
thoroughly  disturbed  and  terror-stricken,  that  the  rider 
in  advance  of  the  party,  seeing  that  they  were  about  to 
evade  him,  sprang  from  his  horse  and  ordered  them  to 
halt. 

It  was  Judge  Anderson,  who,  seizing  Brownell  by 
the  arm  in  his  powerful  grasp,  shouted  : 

"  Cover  them  both  with  your  rifles.  This  fellow  has 
got  blood  on  him,  and  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  them, 
anyway." 

At  this  moment  Brownell  recovered  himself,  and  with 
a  sudden  spring  sought  to  break  from  the  grasp  of  his 
captor;  but  the  Judge  was  a  large  man  and  a  strong 
one,  and  he  had  expected  this  movement.  Seizing 
him  by  the  throat  with  both  hands,  he  bore  him  to  the 
ground,  where  he  held  him  firmly  despite  his  struggles, 
now  grown  fierce  and  determined  as  the  extent  of  his 
real  peril  flashed  upon  him. 

Meanwhile  the  two  younger  men  of  Anderson's  party 
had  leaped  from  their  horses  and  seized  Hunter,  who 
at  once  begged  for  mercy,  crying  out : 

"  Gentlemen,  spare  me  !  spare  me  !  I  have  done 
nothing.  Brownell  is  the  man  ! ' 

"  Brownell !  "  cried  Anderson  and  the  Squire  in  one 
voice. 

'*  Good  God  ! "  said  Anderson.  "  Then  I  am  too 
late,  after  all.  Here,  hold  this  villain,  some  of  you, 
while  I  go  and  search  for  his  victim.  Where  is  he, 
you  infernal  cowardly  hound?"  he  cried  to  Hunter,  aa 
Brownell  was  being  tied  by  the  others. 


364  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  Of 

"  Only  a  few  rods  back  there — at  the  left — by  the 
river,"  said  Hunter,  emitting  the  words  with  difficulty, 
as  Judge  Anderson  had  clutched  him  by  the  throat,  and 
was  nearly  choking  him  to  death. 

Spurning  him  to  one  side,  and  leaving  him  to  the  care 
of  those  who  had  already  bound  his  companion,  the 
Judge  ran  rapidly  in  the  direction  Hunter  had  pointed 
out. 

But  very  little  search  brought  him  to  the  spot,  and 
he  came  upon  poor  Rafe's  body  still  lying  where  he  had 
fallen. 

Lifting  his  unfortunate  friend  in  his  arms,  with  his 
head  leaning  on  his  shoulder,  Judge  Anderson  could 
not  restrain  the  tears  which  welled  up  to  his  eyes  as  he 
saw  by  Rafe's  pallid  countenance  that  if  not  dead,  he 
must  be  very  near  it.  Placing  his  hand  under  his  hunt 
ing-shirt  he  felt  a  slight  beating  of  the  heart,  and  draw 
ing  from  his  pocket  a  flask  of  spirits,  he  poured  a  little 
through  his  clenched  teeth  and  down  his  throat. 

The  unfortunate  man  gasped  and  struggled  a  little, 
but  the  effect  was  to  revive  him,  and  in  a  moment  he 
opened  his  eyes,  and,  looking  about  wildly,  presently 
turned  them  upon  Judge  Anderson,  who  was  leaning 
forward  gazing  fixedly  at  him.  A  smile  of  recognition 
faintly  illumined  his  face,  and  he  pressed  the  hand  of 
the  Judge  to  show  that  he  knew  him. 

The  noise  and  confusion  of  the  struggle  with"  Brown- 
ell  and  Hunter  had  been  heard  in  the  camp,  which  was 
only  a  short  distance  away. 

Maude  was  the  first  to  notice  it,  and  also  to  observe 


DANIEL  BOONS.  365 

that  Rafe  was  not  with  them.  Rising  to  her  feet  where 
she  sat  inspecting  the  preparations  for  supper,  she  turned 
to  Harry,  and  cried  : 

"  Oh,  Harry !  do  you  hear  those  shouts  ?  I  fear 
something  has  happened  to  Rafe." 

And  then,  suddenly,  the  whole  memory  of  her  kind 
friend's  recent  premonitions  surged  through  her  mind, 
and  she  wrung  her  hands  and  burst  into  tears. 

Harry  had  long  before  this  noticed  Rafe's  serious  and 
preoccupied  manner,  and  Maude  had  explained  to  him 
its  cause. 

For  the  moment,  impressed  with  and  sharing  her 
fears,  he  seized  his  rifle,  and  followed  by  Boone  and 
Hardeman,  flew  in  the  direction  whence  the  sounds 
had  seemed  to  come.  He  followed  the  course  taken 
by  Rafe  when  he  left  the  camp,  and  this  brought  him 
presently  to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy. 

By  this  time  Squire  O'Brien  had  joined  the  Judge, 
and  both  were  endeavoring  to  revive  Rafe,  who  had 
not  yet  been  able  to  speak ;  so  that  as  Harry  Calvert 
came  up,  to  his  astonishment  he  found  himself  in  the 
presence  of  his  uncle  and  the  Judge,  whom  he  had 
supposed  to  be  many  miles  away  at  their  respective 
homes. 

But  the  surprise  at  this  meeting  was  lost  in  horror 
at  the  sight  of  his  friend  stretched  on  the  ground,  and 
evidently  with  his  life-blood  rapidly  ebbing  away. 

Very  few  words  were  spoken  between  them,  and 
while  Harry  returned  to  prepare  Maude  for  the  terrible 
Catastrophe  which  had  occurred  *ke  ^tjiers  lifted  Rafe 


366  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

from  the  ground  and  bore  him  carefully  and  tenderly  U 
the  camp. 

The  agony  of  sorrow  and  regret  that  came  over  poor 
Maude  when  she  saw  that  the  presentiment  of  her  un 
happy  friend  had  come  true,  was  terrible  to  witness 
She  did  not,  however,  lose  her  presence  of  mind,  but 
with  all  assiduity  devoted  herself  to  such  measures  as 
were  suggested,  with  the  faint  hope  of  possibly  saving 
his  life. 

It  speedily  became  evident,  however,  that  this  could 
not  be.  His  pulse  was  momentarily  failing,  and  it  was 
plain  that  he  could  last  but  a  little  while  longer. 

In  this  extremity,  and  seeming  to  see  in  the  sad  and 
tender  gaze  of  those  who  stood  about  ministering  to 
him  that  his  end  was  near,  Rafe  Slaughter  made  one 
effort. 

Exerting  all  his  remaining  strength,  he  moved  his 
right  hand  toward  his  left  side,  the  outer  clothing  having 
been  opened  to  admit  of  proper  attention  to  his  wound, 
and  seemed  endeavoring  to  reach  the  pocket  in  his  vest 
on  that  side.  Perceiving  the  movement,  Judge  Ander 
son  said  : 

"  Is  there  anything  in  your  pocket  that  you  wish  to 
have  removed  from  it  ?  " 

Rafe  nodded  and  dropped  his  hand  feebly  where  it 
was. 

The  Judge  inserted  his  hand  in  the  place  indicated, 
and  drew  therefrom  the  two  papers  to  which  we  have 
already  alluded. 

"  Are  these  what  you  mean,  Rafe  ? "  he  said,  gently. 


DANIEL  BOONS.  367 

Rafe  nodded  again,  and  then  with  a  superhuman 
effort  spoke  these  words  feebly  and  disjointedly : 

"  I — acknowledge — that  —  paper — to — be  —  my — last 
will — and — testament.  My — name — is  —  not — Rafe — 
Slaughter — but — Gabriel — Herron  !  " 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  and  then  raising  his  right 
hand  a  little,  he  continued  : 

u  Maude — and — Harry — God — bless — you  ! " 

The  two  to  whom  he  had  last  addressed  himself  were 
leaning  above  him,  Harry  supporting  Maude  with  his 
arm  about  her  waist,  and  both  weeping  bitterly. 

As  the  appeal  to  his  Maker  left  his  lips,  the  soul  of 
him  who  been  known  to  these  his  friends  as  Rafe 
Slaughter,  departed  his  body.  His  head  fell  heavily 
back  on  Judge  Anderson's  breast,  and  he  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

fn  which  Rafe  Slaughter's  last  will  and  testament  is  read ;  and  the  production 
and  perusal  of  certain  other  documents,  explain  some  of  the  mysteries  which 
have  infested  this  narrative.  The  murderei  plays  his  last  card,  and,  failing 
of  success,  exposes  certain  complications  of  interest  The  friends  of  Rafe 
Slaughter  bid  him  farewell. 

THE  terrible  calamity  which  had  now  befallen  our 
friends,  so  recently  happily  reunited  after  their  length 
ened  separation, — this  catastrophe,  so  unexpected, — 
could  not  but  affect  the  spirits  of  all  of  the  members 
of  the  little  association  of  pioneers. 

Now  that  Rafe  Slaughter  was  gone  from  among  them, 
every  one  of  his  associates  felt  a  special  and  individual 
loss  and  corresponding  grief. 

There  was  not  one  but  had  some  recollection  con 
cerning  some  kind  act  or  attention  of  their  deceased 
friend.  His  ever-present  sense  of  responsibility  ;  the 
care  and  judgment  which  he  had  exercised  in  conduct 
ing  the  party  so  successfully  amid  so  many  trials  and 
dangers ;  the  prompt  and  certain  bravery  which  had 
characterized  him  when  danger  actually  appeared  ;  the 
unfailing  thoughtfulness  and  consideration  for  others ; 
and  the  unflagging  good -humor  and  fortitude  with 
which  he  had  borne  his  share,  and  more,  of  all  their 

privations :  all  of  these  qualities  of  the  leader,  associate, 
(368) 


DsL\    "L  BOONE.  36,; 

and  friend,  were  now  ret.,  ed  to  the  minds  of  his  late 
companions. 

For  a  long  time  their  grief  prevented  them  from  con 
sidering  any  othei  fact  but  the  terrible  one  that  Rafe 
Slaughter  was  dead. 

Lying  there,  so  calm  and  placid,  it  was  difficult  for 
them  to  believe  that  he  was  not  enjoying  the  temporary 
repose  which  he  had  so  well  earned,  and  which  he  had 
so  sorely  needed. 

The  camp  was  a  scene  of  mourning ;  but  as  the  first 
recognition  of  the  evil  which  had  befallen  them  became 
more  familiar  to  their  minds,  another  thought  was  awak 
ened  which  soon  began  to  exercise  its  own  influence. 
A  revengeful  spirit  grew  in  the  hearts  of  those  grieved 
ones,  and  hatred  of  his  murderer  mingled  with  lamen 
tations  for  the  murdered. 

Several  hours  had  elapsed,  and  they  were  all  sitting 
about  the  camp-fire  recalling  memories  of  the  dead,  and 
occasionally   one   or  another   interjecting    a  question 
concerning  the  recent  movements  of  the  living,  when 
word  was  brought  by  Squire  Boone,  who,  with  one  of  t 
the  young  men  accompanying  Judge  Anderson,  was  I 
guarding    the   two   prisoners,   that    Brownell    desired 
to   see   Mr.  Calvert,  on  a   matter  closely  concerning 
the  latter. 

At  first,  the  repugnance  which  he  felt  toward  the 
man,  inclined  Harry  to  disregard  the  request ;  but  the 
others  thought  it  advisable  that  he  should  comply  with 
it,  and  he  rose  from  his  reclining  posture  to  do  so,  when 
Judge  Anderson  said,  "  Wait  a  moment,  Mr.  Calvert. 
16* 


370  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Before  you  see  him,  1  think  it  will  be  well  for  us  first  to 
examine  the  contents  of  poor  Rafe's  will." 

This  observation  brought  fresh  to  the  minds  of  all, 
the  astounding  intelligence  which  Rafe  had  communi 
cated  in  his  last  words.  So  unexpected  had  this  been 
that  it  seemed  impossible  for  any  of  them  to  overcome 
their  old  familiarity  with  the  name  of  Rafe  Slaughter, 
and  to  recall  that  he  who  bore  it  was  justly  entitled  to 
another,  and  that  he  was  in  reality  the  lost  relative  of 
Harry  Calvert,  and  the  one  who  had  innocently  stood  in 
his  place  in  his  uncle's  regard. 

As  these  recollections  flashed  upon  his  mind,  and  in 
answer  to  Judge  Anderson's  suggestion,  Harry  stopped 
where  he  was  standing,  shaken  by  a  combination  of 
conflicting  emotions.  Perceiving  the  deep  feelings, 
whose  exhibition  the  young  man  sought  vainly  to  re 
press,  the  Judge  said  to  him  kindly  : 

"  Sit  down,  my  young  friend  ;  it  will  only  occupy  a 
few  moments,  and  it  has  to  be  gone  through  with  some 
time." 

Harry  quietly  complied  with  this  request,  and  seated 
himself  again  by  his  cousin,  who  softly  laid  her  hand 
upon  his,  signifying  by  the  act  that  she  was  with  him 
in  his  sorrows  as  in  his  joys. 

The  Judge  now  drew  the  paper  from  his  pocket,  and 
opening  it  proceeded  to  read. 

The  will  had  been  executed  in  Granville  County  dur 
ing  the  period  when  Rafe — for  so  we  shall  continue  to 
call  him — had  been  attending  to  the  affairs  of  Judge  An- 
derson,  while  Harry  was  in  Baltimore. 


DANIEL  BOONS.  371 

The  act  had  been  kept  a  profound  secret  even  from 
the  Judge,  although  the  latter  knew  well  the  lawyer 
who  had  drawn  up  the  paper,  and  the  witnesses  who 
had  attested  to  the  signature. 

Attached  to  the  will  were  documents  signed  by  par 
ties  residing  in  the  Colonies,  fully  testifying  to  the  fact 
that  he  who  called  himself  Rafe  Slaughter,  was  in  real 
ity  no  other  than  Gabriel  Herron,  the  heir  of  Frederick 
Calvert  and  the  executor  of  the  instrument  before  them. 
'  The  will  itself,  carefully  drawn  up  in  the  usual  form, 
and  with  the  customary  preamble,  exhibited  a  precise 
knowledge  of  the  provisions  of  the  testamentary  dispo 
sition  of  the  property  which  had  been  bequeathed  to 
Gabriel  Herron  by  his  uncle. 

The  paper  also  showed  that  the  present  testator  had 
complied  with  all  the  essential  conditions  of  law,  in  re 
gard  to  a  proper  declaration  before  authorized  officials, 
regarding  his  rights  under  the  will  of  the  late  Frederick 
Calvert.  All  of  these  preliminaries  had  been  carefully 
attended  to ;  so  carefully  indeed,  as  to  draw  an  invol 
untary  remark  from  Judge  Anderson,  as  to  the  close 
ness  and  accuracy  with  which  this  instrument  was 
drawn,  and  all  the  necessary  provisions  of  the  law  com 
plied  with. 

These  all  having  been  duly  set  forth,  the  will  pro 
ceeded  to  bequeath  the  entire  interest  of  the  deceased 
in  his  uncle's  property  to  his  cousin  Harry  Calvert. 

The  document  concluded  with  a  kindly  intimation  of 
the  hope  of  the  testator,  that  his  heir  might  obtain  the 
fruition  of  his  hopes  in  a  happy  marriage  with  his  cous. 


372  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

in  Maude  O'Brien  ;  as  to  whom  it  was  thus  seen,  that 
even  at  this  early  stage  of  his  acquaintance  with  her, 
the  deceased  had  formed  sentiments  of  profound  re 
spect  and  admiration. 

After  reading  the  will,  and  while  those  present  weie 
silent,  engaged  in  their  own  reflections,  Judge  Ander 
son  mechanically  opened  the  small  piece  of  paper  which 
accompanied  it. 

Glancing  casually  over  the  few  lines  which  were  writ- 
ten  upon  this,  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 
The  others  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  when  he  turned 
to  the  Squire  and  said : 

"  O'Brien,  have  you  got  with  you  the  letter  which 
was  addressed  to  Brownell  ?  " 

There  was  a  movement  among  those  who  heard  him 
ask  this  question,  and  a  general  expression  in  their 
faces  of  surprise  and  curiosity.  So  little  had  been  said 
about  anything  connected  with  recent  occurrences  that 
this  letter  had  not  yet  been  mentioned. 

The  Squire  drew  a  wallet  from  his  pocket,  and  open 
ing  it  extracted  from  it,  and  handed  to  Judge  Anderson, 
the  letter  in  question.  Opening  it,  the  Judge  scanned 
it  carefully,  and  then  appeared  to  be  comparing  its 
contents  with  those  of  the  paper  before  him.  Present 
ly  he  said : 

"  This  paper  is  in  the  handwriting  of  Stephen  Rob 
erts  ;  I  wonder  how  it  came  into  poor  Rafe's  posses 
sion  ! " 

On  hearing  these  words,  Rose,  who  was  sitting  a 
littte  distance  from  the  speaker$  and  who  had  listened 


DANIEL  nOONE. 


373 


eagerly  to  every  word  that  had  been  uttered,  sprang  to 
her  feet  and  cried  out,  "  I  know,  Massa  Judge !  " 

All  looked  at  her  with  amazement,  and  the  Judge 
said : 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it,  my  good  girl  ?  " 

"  Why,  Massa  Judge,  I  found  dat  paper,  one  day,  eb- 
ber  so  long  ago,  when  it  dropped  from  Massa  Brown- 
ell's  pocket,  and  de  wind  cotched  it,  an*  took  it  away 
down  to  de  bank  ob  de  ribber.  I  seed  it  a  flyin*  an'  I 
ru  nned  for  it,  an*  I  cotched  it,  an*  just  den  Massa  Rafe  ' 

Here  the  girl's  fedings  overcame  her,  for  she,  like 

every  one  else,  had  none  but  kindly  recollections  of  poor 
Rafe.  Recovering  herself  in  a  moment,  she  continued 
in  a  low,  broken  voice  : 

"  Massa  Rafe  asked  me  fer  de  paper,  and  I  gived  it 
to  him,  an'  he  read  it  an'  put  it  in  his  pocket,  an'  tole 
me  to  say  nuffin  about  it  to  no  one,  an'  I  nebber  did. 
Golly !  Massa  Judge,  I'd  get  cut  into  inch  pieces  'fore 
I'd  done  anything  Massa  Rafe  tole  me  not  to  do." 

The  girl  burst  into  sobs  and  tears,  and  ran  into  the 
bush,  until  she  should  recover  command  of  herself. 

"  This  paper,"  said  Judge  Anderson,  slowly  and 
gravely,  after  Rose  had  got  through,  "  should  have 
been  a  warning  to  poor  Rafe."  He  then  read  it  aloud, 
as  follows : 

"Rafe  Slaughter,  (i):  Harry  Calvert,  (2):  Seven 
years" 

"  It  did  act  as  a  warning  to  him,"  cried  out  Maude, 
excitedly,  "  for  it  must  have  been  that  which  gave  him 


374  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OP 

the  terrible  presentiment  of  coming  danger  that  has 
afflicted  him  for  so  many  days." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hardeman,  recalling  the  conversation 
between  Maude,  Rafe,  and  himself,  "  this  explains  the 
extraordinary  remarks  which  he  made  to  Miss  O'Brien 
and  myself  one  day,  when  he  informed  us  of  his  having 
experienced  these  premonitions.  Poor  fellow  !  we  lit- 
tie  thought  how  unerring  was  his  instinct." 

"  Still,"  interrupted  the  Squire,  who,  himself,  was, 
like  Hardeman,  no  believer  in  supernatural  interposi 
tions  of  this  nature — "the  presentiment  itself  is  now 
explained,  by  his  having  possession  of  this  memoran 
dum ;  and  now,  Judge,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  latter, 
"  I  understand,  as  you  will,  the  meaning  of  that  letter." 

The  Judge  lifted  the  letter  in  question,  from  where 
he  had  let  it  fall,  while  listening  to  the  remarks  that 
were  being  made,  and  read  aloud  as  follows  • 

"William  Brownell  : 

"  On  receipt  of  this,  if  you  have  not  already  begun 
to  carry  out  the  purposes  I  indicated  to  you  at  our 
meeting,  you  will  at  once  do  so.  The  articles  I  named 
to  you,  are  to  be  handled  as  follows :  No.  I  is  to  be 
destroyed,  so  that  you  may  better  take  care  of  No.  2, 
Remember  Seven,  two  of  which  are  already  gone.  Use 
any  means  you  like,  but  take  care  of  your  own  safety. 
When  this  is  done  communicate  with  me." 

"  It  is  all,  alas !  too  clear,"  said  the  Judge,  as  he 
refolded  the  letter,  and  handed  it  to  Squire  O'Brien  ; 
"  this  memorandum  explains  it,  as  the  letter  itself  wag 


DANTEL  BOONE.  375 

designed  to  complete  in  writing,  which  could  only  he 
understood  by  the  one  who  received  it,  the  orders 
which  had  been  previously  given  verbally. 

<l  No.  I  was  poor  Rafe,  who  was  to  be  destroyed. 
No.  2  was  you,  my  young  friend,"  he  said,  addressing 
Harry  Calvert ;  "  but  as  to  the  motive  of  the  act  I  am 
now  all  at  sea  ;  since  the  letter  says  that  it  was  to  be 
committed  so  that  the  murderer '  might  better  take  care 
of  No.  2,'  which  is  you  ;  the  (7)  referred  to  the  seven 
years  named  in  your  uncle's  will,  two  of  which  had 
elapsed. 

"  Without  going  into  particulars  now,  I  will  say  in 
explanation,  that  the  idea  of  Squire  O'Brien  and  my 
self,  in  coming  out  here,  was  to  protect  the  life  of  my 
secretary.  From  various  circumstances,  I  had  reason 
to  believe  it  was  threatened  ;  but  in  all  my  thinking  on 
the  subject,  the  theory  I  had  formed  was  that  poor 
Rafe  was  to  be  slaughtered  on  account  of  his  connec 
tion  with  me,  since  Stephen  Roberts  was  my  enemy, 
and  the  enemy  of  the  purposes  I  had  planned." 

"  Perhaps  the  best  thing  to  do,"  here  observed  Daniel 
Boone,  who  had  not  hitherto  spoken,  "  is  for  Mr.  Cal 
vert  to  go  and  see  Brownell,  as  he  has  requested.  The 
scoundrel  may  possibly  drop  something  that  will  ex 
plain  the  real  motive  of  his  murderous  act." 

"  You  are  right,  Boone,"  said  the  Judge ;  "  and  now 
that  you  are  fortunately  fully  informed,"  he  added  to 
Harry,  "  you  had  better  at  once  go  and  see  what  the 
man  has  to  say.  I  need  not  advise  you  to  say  nothing 
yourself,  until  you  have  heard  his  story." 


TftE  LIFE  AND  TtMES  Of 

"  I  certainly  shall  not,"  said  Harry,  rising  to  depart 
on  his  errand ;  "  it  will  be  difficult  for  me  even  to  listen 
to  him,  and  I  could  not  possibly  say  anything  more  to 
him  than  was  absolutely  necessary." 

"  One  moment ! "  exclaimed  Judge  Anderson,  as 
though  he  had  forgotten  something ;  "  I  neglected 
to  mention  one  important  fact :  Stephen  Roberts  is 
dead.  He  died  at  his  office,  in  my  presence,  about 
four  weeks  ago,  after  making  partial  confessions  to  me, 
on  which  I  based  my  suspicions  concerning  his  inten 
tions  with  regard  to  my  poor  friend." 

Though  surprised  and  startled,  Harry  said  nothing, 
but  hurried  away  to  his  appointment ;  leaving  the  oth 
ers  thunderstruck  at  this  astounding  piece  of  news. 

Squire  Boone  had  returned  to  Brownell  and  reported 
that  Mr.  Calvert  would  speak  to  him  shortly.  Leaving 
the  others,  Harry  proceeded  to  the  spot  some  ways 
back  from  the  camp,  where  Brownell  and  Hunter,  both 
securely  tied,  were  lying  upon  the  ground,  closely 
watched  by  the  guards  who  had  been  placed  over 
them.  A  fire  had  been  kindled  there,  also  ;  and  its 
light  illumined  the  faces  of  the  four  persons  beside  it. 

On  seeing  Harry,  Brownell  moved  a  little  restlessly, 
and  his  face  turned  a  shade  paler.  Drawing  near  to 
him,  Harry  said,  sternly :  "  What  do  you  want  with 
me?" 

"  What  I  have  got  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Calvert,  is  in 
your  own  interest,  and  it  will  be  better  for  you  that 
nobody  else  should  hear  it." 

Harry  felt  such  a  sentiment  of  anger  and  hatred 


DANIEL  &OONE.  377 

against  this  man,  that  he  could  hardly  bring  himself 
to  consent  to  a  private  interview ;  but  a  moment's  re- 
flection  showed  him,  that  perhaps  in  the  interests  of 
justice  it  would  be  best,  and  he  accordingly  requested 
Squire  Boone  to  untie  Brownell,  and  then  keeping  him 
closely  covered  with  a  pistol  he  permitted  him  to  step 
a  few  paces  aside,  where  he  would  not  be  overheard. 

"  Now,  go  on  with  what  you  have  to  say ! '  cried 
Harry,  "  and  be  quick  about  it." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  and  he  looked  in  Harry's 
face,  in  a  manner  that  was  the  reverse  of  remorseful ; 
"  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be  so  hard  on  me ; 
as  what  I  did,  I  did  for  your  sake." 

Warned  though  he  was  by  the  communication  he 
had  just  received,  Harry  could  not  resist  an  expression 
of  loathing  as  he  heard  these  words. 

"  For  my  sake,  you  scoundrel,"  said  he,  "  what  do 
you  mean  ?  How  could  you  brutally  murder  my  friend, 
and  term  it  for  my  sake  ?  " 

"  Well,  Mr.  Calvert,  I  know  it  looks  onreasonable, 
but  it  is  the  truth.  My  life  is  in  your  hands,  and  I 
won't  conceal  anything  from  you.  The  man  I  killed 
was  not  Rafe  Slaughter,  as  he  pretended  ;  going  around 
with  a  name  that  did  not  belong  to  him ;  his  real  name 
was  Gabriel  Herron,  and  he  was  the  man  that  got  yow 
inheritance  away  from  you." 

If  Brownell  anticipated  any  movement  of  surprise  on 
the  part  of  his  auditor,  he  was  disappointed.  Harry 
never  moved  a  muscle,  but  staring  him  straight  in  the 
(ace,  said  simply :  "  Go  on  ;  I  am  listening." 


37$  TflE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

Thinking  that  this  manner  might  be  assumed,  Brown, 
ell  continued,  although  a  little  chop-fallen  at  this  coo] 
reception  of  his  most  important  card  : 

"  He  stole  your  inheritance,"  he  went  on,  "  and  so 
instead  of  being  your  friend,  he  must  have  been  your 
enemy  ;  and  nobody  could  tell  but  himself — and  now 
he  can't — what  he  might  have  meant  to  do  to  you  if 
he  had  lived." 

Despite  his  forced  calmness,  Harry  was  so  affected 
by  this  scandalous  insinuation,  that  only  the  recollec 
tion  of  the  man's  hands  being  tied,  prevented  him  from 
striking  him.  He  kept  control  of  himself,  however ; 
and,  after  waiting  a  moment,  and  receiving  no  response 
to  this  cowardly  accusation  of  the  dead,  Brownell 
went  on : 

"  Stephen  Roberts,  down  in  Hillsborough,  put  me 
up  to  this,  and  I  agreed  to  do  it  ;  because  he  told  me 
it  was  for  your  interest,  and  this  other  man  was  an  im 
postor  ;  I  am  sure  I  had  nothing  agin  him,"  he  added, 
in  a  whining  voice,  for  the  imperturbable  silence  of  the 
other  had  by  this  time  had  its  effect  upon  his  own 
equanimity. 

Harry  now  saw  that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  ques 
tion  the  fellow,  if  he  would  get  at  the  merits  of  the 
case. 

"  What  could  Roberts'  motive  have  been  in  direct 
ing  such  an  infamous  assassination  ?  He  was  no  friend 
of  mine,  and  I  never  saw  him  but  once  in  my  life  ' 

"  Once  was  enough  for  Steve  Roberts,"  said  the  oth 
er  slyly.  "  Mr.  Calvert,  anybody  who  knows  anything 


DANIEL  BOONS.  379 

about  Roberts,  knows  that  all  he  lives  for  is  the  Regu 
lators." 

''Did  live  for,"  said  Harry;  "he  is  dead."  . 

On  hearing  this,  Brownell  started  back  so  suddenly, 
that,  tied  as  he  was,  he  would  have  fallen  had  not 
Harry  seized  him  by  the  arm,  and  shaken  him  back 
into  an  erect  position. 

The  unexpected  blow  told  fearfully.  The  man's  jaw 
dropped,  and  his  face  became  clammy  with  perspira 
tion. 

"  Dead  ! "  he  repeated.  "  Great  God  !  you  don't 
mean  it ! " 

"  He  is  dead,"  repeated  Harry ;  "  Judge  Anderson 
saw  him  die,  at  his  office  in  Hillsborough." 

"  Then  God  damn  his  soul ! "  replied  the  other,  al 
most  in  a  shriek.  "  He  has  got  me  into  this  scrape, 
and  I  hope  his  infernal  carcass  will  burn  in  hell." 

Moved  almost  with  a  sense  of  compassion  at  this 
terrible  outburst,  Harry  stood,  regarding  the  man,  as 
he  fairly  foamed  at  the  mouth,  in  his  passion  of  anger 
and  terror. 

"  Leave  him,"  he  said,  presently,  "  to  the  God  you 
invoke  ;  who  will  deal  with  both  of  you  according  to 
your  deserts." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  all  up  with  me,"  cried  the  other,  now 
evidently  grown  reckless,  as  his  certain  fate  stared  him 
in  the  face.  "  My  jig  is  up.  But  I  will  do  as  much 
damage  as  I  can  to  Steve  Roberts'  memory  while 
I  live. 

"  N:>w,  look  here,  Mr.  Calvert,  I  will  make  a  clear 


3 So  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

breast  of  it.  That  man  Roberts  made  a  plot  against 
you,  that  the  devil  himself  could  not  have  imagined. 

44  You  remember  your  second  visit  to  him,  when  you 
was  on  your  way  back  from  the  coast." 

"  I  do,"  said  Harry,  "  very  well.  It  was  no  visit  of 
mine  ;  he  called  me  into  his  office." 

<4  That  was  a  part  of  his  plan.  He  knew  then  who 
Rafe  Slaughter  was,  and  that  you  had  lost  through 
him  the  property  you  expected  from  your  uncle.  That 
visit  of  yours  gave  him  his  opportunity.  He  made  up 
his  mind  that  he  was  going  to  get  some  of  that  money 
to  help  the  Regulators.  He  knew  he  could  not  get  it 
out  of  Rafe  Slaughter,  and  so  he  planned  to  get  it  out 
of  you." 

44  How  could  he  hope  to  get  money  out  of  me  by  in 
stigating  the  murder  of  my  best  friend  ?  and  he  was 
my  best  friend,  and  not  my  enemy,  as  you  pretend  tc 
believe.  I  know  though,  Brownell,  that  you  don't  be 
lieve  it ;  but,  at  least,  when  you  reflect  that  the  man 
you  so  brutally  murdered,  saved  your  life,  with  the 
others,  when  you  were  a  prisoner  among  the  Indians,  I 
should  think  you  would  drop  dead  in  your  tracks  at 
the  reflection  of  what  you  have  done." 

That  Brownell  was  affected  by  this  speech  and  the 
recollection  it  recalled,  was  evident  in  his  manner.  He 
trembled  like  a  leaf  shaken  by  the  wind,  tottered,  and 
would  have  fallen — but  recovered  himself  by  a  power 
ful  effort,  and  stood  listening.  When  Harry  had  con. 
eluded,  he  went  on,  however,  as  though  ignoring  what 
had  last  been  said  : 


DANIEL  tiOOttE.  381 

"  I  will  tell  how  Stephen  Roberts  expected  to  get 
money  out  of  you,  after  he  had  procured  the  ki.ling  ol 
the  one  you  call  your  best  friend." 

Leaning  forward  suddenly,  with  his  face  so  close  to 
Harry's  that  they  almost  touched,  while  the  other  re- 
coiled  in  horror,  he  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  "  He 
meant  to  charge  you  with  instigating  the  crime." 

"  My  God !  "  exclaimed  Harry ;  "  are  you  mad  ?  HOM 
could  he  do  that  ?  " 

"  Easy  enough,"  said  the  other ;  "  by  using  your  sec 
ond  interview  with  him  in  his  office  in  Hillsbovongh, 
when  you  had  just  obtained  the  knowledge  that  you 
were  disinherited.  Oh,  his  scheme  was  likely  enough, 
and  might  have  succeeded,  though  now  that  I  see  what 
kind  of  a  man  you  are,  I  don't  think  so  much  of  it  as  I 
did. 

"  His  plan  was  just  this :  I  was  to  put  the  man  out 
of  the  way ;  then  I  was  to  go  to  you,  and  show  you 
what  a  benefit  his  death  would  be  to  you,  because  you 
would  now  get  the  property ;  then  he  thought  that  out 
of  gratitude  to  him,  and  supposing  you  would  have  some 
angry  feelings  against  the  man  for  keeping  you  out  of 
your  rights,  you  would  be  willing  to  give  him  a  good 
round  sum  in  the  way  of  compensation,  which  he  could 
use  to  carry  out  the  plans  of  the  Regulators." 

"  My  God  !  my  God !  "  ejaculated  poor  Harry. 

After  a  moment's  silence  and  reflection,  he  said  : 

"But  supposing  this  hideous  presumption  of  his 
should  have  failed — which  you  must  know  by  this  time 
it  certainly  would — then  what  would  he  have  dime? 


$82  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

11  Why,  just  this,"  cried  the  other  "  I  would  have, 
reminded  you  of  your  meeting  with  Stephen  Roberta 
at  Hillsborough.  I  would  have  told  you  that  he  was 
ready  to  swear  that  he  then  informed  you  of  the  iden 
tity  of  Rafe  Slaughter  with  Gabriel  Herron,  and  that 
you  employed  him  to  have  him  murdered,  so  that  you 
ctmld  get  the  property  ;  and  that  you  promised  him  if 
it  was  done,  he  should  have  half  of  what  you  received 
for  getting  it  done. 

"  He  had  got  the  scheme  all  arranged  ;  could  have 
produced  witnesses  to  swear  they  were  in  the  next  room 
and  heard  the  conversation  ;  and  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Calvert, 
he  would  have  brought  such  a  power  of  evidence  to 
bear,  that,  the  man  being  dead,  and  you  not  being  able 
to  do  him  any  good,  you  would  have  come  into  his 
terms  to  save  your  own  prospects  and  your  life,  and 
the  feelings  and  happiness  of  the  girl  you  loved.  I  tell 
you,  nothing  but  the  hand  of  God  could  have  destroyed 
that  scheme,  and  that  is  what  has  done  it." 

To  say  that  Harry  was  stunned  by  the  tremendous 
and  terrible  character  of  these  revelations,  is  to  give 
but  a  light  expression  of  his  feelings. 

While  he  felt  the  horror  of  the  plan  that  he  could  not 
doubt  had  been  devised  by  Stephen  Roberts,  and  the 
thought  of  which  shook  him  to  the  core,  he  was  forced 
to  admit  that  there  did  not  seem  to  be  a  flaw  in  it. 

It  was  plain  to  him  that  nothing  but  the  death  of  the 
wretch  who  had  conceived  this  villainous  plot,  and  the 
capture  of  his  tool,  could  have  saved  him  from  being 
meshed  in  a  network  of  circumstantial  evidence,  undei 


DANIEL  BOONE.  383 

which  he  could  not  be  sure  that  his  firmness  would  not 
have  been  broken.  And  as  he  thought  of  Maude 
O'Brien  in  this  connection,  a  cold  perspiration  started 
to  his  brow,  the  blood  returned  to  his  heart,  and  with 
a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  sob,  as  he  reflected  that  Provi 
dence  had  spared  him  such  a  fearful  conflict,  he  turned 
to  close  the  interview. 

"  Is  there  anything  more  you  wish  to  say  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  sullenly. 

All  the  excitement  which  had  arisen  in  him  as  he  re 
capitulated  the  details  of  the  plot,  in  whose  carrying  out 
he  had  been  a  chief  instrument,  had  now  left  him,  and 
his  face  expressed  gloom  and  despair. 

"  No,  I  have  .nothing  more  to  say.  Stephen  Roberts 
is  dead,  and  I  soon  will  be.  I  took  the  risks  and  they 
have  gone  agin  me.  I  am  sorry  for  my  old  woman  and 
the  children,"  he  added,  half  to  himself,  "  but  they  won't 
lose  much  when  they  lose  me." 

Moved  a  little  in  spite  of  himself,  as  he  heard  the 
last  remark  of  the  hopeless  wretch,  Harry  said,  a  little 
more  kindly : 

"  Well,  as  you  have  concluded,  you  may  return  tc 
where  you  were." 

The  man  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  him  for  ; 
moment. 

"  Mr.  Calvert,"  he  said,  "  do  me  one  kindness ! " 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  You've  got  a  loaded  pistol  in  your  hand ;  put  a  bul. 
let  through  my  head.  You  won't  get  hurt.  You  can 
tell  any  story  you  like,  and  if  you  tell  the  true  one 


384  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

about  what  I  have  said  to  you,  it  would  be  cause 
enough  for  killing  me.  The  law  won't  touch  you.  Do 
it,  won't  you  ?  I  don't  want  to  be  hung  like  a  dog." 

"  Go  back  to  your  place ! "  said  Harry,  sternly 
"  there  has  been  murder  enough.  Whatever  excuse 
there  might  have  been  for  Stephen  Roberts  with  his 
fanaticism,  there  is  none  for  you.  What  you  did  was 
an  act  against  one  who  had  saved  your  life,  and  had 
been  kind  and  friendly  to  you  since  you  first  met  him  ; 
and  you  did  it  for  money.  Go  on  !  " 

Brownell  said  no  more.  He  dropped  his  chin  on  his 
breast  and  walked  slowly  back  to  the  fire,  followed  by 
Harry. 

"  Tie  him  up  again,"  said  the  latter  to  Squire  Boone, 
"  and  for  heaven's  sake,  don't  let  either  of  them  escape  ! " 

"  I  have  done  nothing,  Mr.  Calvert,"  cried  Hunter,  in 
a  whining  voice,  from  his  place  on  the  ground  ;  and 
rising  as  he  added,  slowly,  "  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it  but  to  stand  there  and  hold  his  gun.  He  didn't  tell 
me  what  he  was  going  about." 

"  You  lie,  you  cowardly  hound  ! "  roared  Brownell. 
"  You  knew  all  about  it,  and  knew  enough  to  fix  a  good 
stiff  price  on  what  little  you  had  to  do." 

Pained  and  disgusted  at  this  scene,  Harry  turned  on 
his  heel  and  rejoined  his  companions. 

It  was  by  this  time  late,  and  he  found  that  the  others 
had  disposed  themselves  for  the  night,  and  were  most 
of  them  sleeping  soundly ;  he  accordingly  soon  fol 
lowed  their  example. 

The  next  morning  Harry  communicated  to  Judge 


DANIEL  BO  ONE.  385 

Anderson  and  his  uncle,  alone,  the  statement  that  had 
been  made  to  him  by  Brownell.  Their  expressions  of 
amazement  and  horror  at  the  cold-blooded  villainy  and 
wonderful  skill  of  the  plot  which  had  thus  so  fortu. 
nately  miscarried,  were  as  emphatic  as  had  been  his  own. 

After  this  conference  was  over,  the  Judge  called  all 
the  men  of  the  party  together  to  consult  on  the  dis 
position  to  be  made  of  the  two  prisoners.  Boone  and 
the  Squire  were  for  improvising  a  court,  trying,  convict 
ing,  sentencing,  and  hanging  them  on  the  spot  ;  but  to 
this  course,  however,  though  considering  where  they 
were  and  the  rather  lax  legal  customs  of  frontier  life, 
Judge  Anderson  would  not  consent. 

"  We  are  too  near  the  settlements  to  render  that 
necessary,"  he  said.  "  It  will  not  take  long  to  get  them 
to  Hillsborough,  where  they  can  be  properly  tried." 

It  was  accordingly  decided  that  this  disposition  of 
the  two  should  be  made,  and  the  attention  of  all  was 
next  directed  to  preparations  for  the  burial  of  the  un 
fortunate  victim  of  Stephen  Roberts'  mad  conspiracy. 

It  was  determined  to  bury  poor  Rafe  where  he  fell — 
by  the  side  of  the  overhanging  chestnut  tree,  where  the 
grassy  slope  inclined  to  the  waters  of  the  river  below. 

Here  a  grave  was  dug  ;  and  in  the  quiet  sunny  after 
noon  the  body  of  their  murdered  friend  was  tenderly 
carried  thither,  and  deposited  in  its  last  resting-place, 
bedewed  with  the  tears  of  the  only  friends  he  had  in 
the  whole  world. 

The  grave  was  filled  and  sodded  over,  and  a  rude 

'7 


386        LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  DANIEL  BOONE. 

cross,  with  the  united  initials  R.  S.  and  G.  H.  cut  upon 
it,  was  placed  at  its  head. 

The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  as  it  was  gradually 
being  lost  to  view  behind  the  mountain-tops,  gilded  the 
grave  of  that  self-sacrificing,  noble,  and  lonely  spirit,  as 
his  friends  who  mourned  his  loss  with  a  sorrow  that 
was  not  to  be  comforted,  gathered  together  their  be 
longings  and  hastened  from  the  ill-omened  spot. 

Conducting  their  two  prisoners  with  their  hands  tied, 
but  their  limbs  free  to  walk,  and  with  the  women  of 
the  party  mounted  on  the  horses  which  had  been 
brought  by  Judge  Anderson's  party,  all  hastened  their 
steps,  and  at  nightfall  they  were  miles  away  from  the 
scene  of  the  exciting  incidents  which  thus  sadly  con 
cluded  their  journey  into  the  wilds  of  Kentucky. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

The  ifctum  of  the  adventurers.  A  sad  meeting,  but  a  warm  greeting.  Banks 
are  fought  over  again  ;  the  past  is  related ;  the  present  is  enjoyed,  and  the 
kappiness  of  at  least  two  of  the  party  is  secured  for  the  future. 

THAT  was  a  sorry  company  that,  late  one  hazy  after 
noon  toward  the  end  of  October,  1771,  wound  along 
the  road  that  led  across  the  bridge  where  we  first  in 
troduced  Harry  Calvert  and  Maude  O'Brien,  and  so  on 
up  to  the  drive-way  which  led  to  Squire  O'Brien's  man 
sion. 

They  were  all  worn,  sun-burned  and  travel-stained. 
Their  clothing  had  been  torn  by  brambles  and  soaked 
by  rains.  Though  the  industrious  needles  of  Maude 
and  Mademoiselle  Raimonde  had  been  plied  frequently 
and  to  good  purpose,  not  all  their  care  and  labor  had 
prevented  the  display,  in  many  instances,  of  garments 
ripped  and  tattered. 

First  came  Daniel  Boone  striding  along,  erect  and 
eagle-eyed  as  ever,  with  his  rifle  swung  over  his  shoul 
der,  and  close  beside  him  Mike  Dooley,  externally  the 
worse  for  his  long  journey,  but  with  his  eye  bright  and 
glistening,  possibly  with  a  stray  tear  of  joy  at  reaching 
home  again. 

After  them  came  Thomas  Hardeman,  Squire  Boone, 

(387) 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  Of 

and  then  a  cavalcade  of  five  horses.  On  the  foremost 
of  these  rode  Maude,  by  whose  side  marched  Harry 
Calvert,  his  hand  occasionally  resting  on  the  pommel 
of  her  saddle.  Next  to  them  was  Mile.  Raimonde,  and 
then  Rose,  who  could  ride  as  well  as  a  boy,  and  who 
Carried,  strapped  about  the  horse  on  which  she  sat,  a 
good  part  of  the  luggage  of  the  entire  company. 

Following  these  were  Judge  Anderson  and  Squire 
O'Brien,  also  on  horseback.  And  then  was  exhibited 
the  painful  sight  of  the  two  men,  Brownell  and  Hunter, 
who  struggled  on,  limping,  and  with  their  hands  tied 
behind  them,  closely  guarded  by  the  three  men  who 
had  come  up  from  Granville  with  Judge  Anderson. 

After  they  had  crossed  the  bridge,  the  motley  party 
could  be  plainly  seen  from  the  great  house,  and  at  once 
the  piazza,  was  filled  with  people,  while  from  the  negro 
quarters  and  outbuildings  gathered  the  house-servants 
and  the  hands,  and  loud  cries  and  cheers  of  welcome 
went  up  from  all  of  them. 

The  returned  wanderers  waved  their  hats  and  their 
hands  in  acknowledgment  of  these  salutations ;  but  it 
did  not  take  long  for  those  who  were  watching  them — 
some  of  whom  hastened  down  from  the  piazza,  to  meet 
them — to  recognize  that  this  return  was  not  altogether 
joyous  and  satisfactory. 

There  was  something  about  the  manner  of  the  entire 
party  which  showed  that  there  had  been  in  their  recent 
experience  some  saddening  occasion. 

Lady  O'Brien  came  to  meet  the  Squire  half-way,  and 
was  followed  by  the  rector  and  Mr.  Rawlings,  who  had 


DANIEL  BOONS.  389 

but  just  arrived,  bringing  his  lady,  for  their  customary 
autumn  visit. 

Welcoming  greetings  now  passed  from  one  to  the 
other  with  all  the  warmth  that  could  be  desired,  even 
Maude  coming  in  for  a  show  of  affection  from  her 
mother  which  she  had  not  expected,  and  which  drew 
tears  from  her  eyes. 

All  were  engaged  in  shaking  hands  and  asking  and 
answering  questions  rapidly,  when  suddenly  the  rector, 
•who  had  been  looking  about  for  a  moment,  turned  to 
Harry,  and  said  : 

"  But  where  is  Mr.  Slaughter  ?  " 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  the  Squire  took  Dr. 
Bullock  aside,  and  briefly  related  to  him  an  outline  of 
the  facts  connected  with  the  assassination  of  Rafe,  while 
the  same  story  was  told  by  the  others  of  the  party. 
The  unexpected  news  that  the  courageous  and  noble- 
hearted  secretary  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  wicked 
schemes  of  Stephen  Roberts,  greatly  dampened  the 
spirits  of  those  who  were  so  happily  appreciative  of  the 
return  of  their  friends. 

But  as  the  first  effect  of  this  communication  wore  off 
and  all  were  gathered  about  the  piazza  and  in  the  draw 
ing  and  sitting  rooms  conversing  earnestly  on  the  many 
events  of  the  last  two  years,  a  more  satisfactory  spirit 
was  aroused,  and  the  worn-out  pioneers  began  at  last 
to  really  appreciate  the  comfort  and  joy  of  coming 
home. 

Meanwhile,  the  two  prisoners  had  been  placed  in  a 
apartment,  where  they  were  carefully  watched 


390  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

and  where  they  would  remain  until  it  should  be  decided 
To  remove  them  to  Hillsborough  for  trial. 

Daring  the  evening,  and  when  all  had  been  served 
with  a  substantial  supper,  and  sat  about  the  great  fires 
in  the  halls  and  drawing-rooms,  the  sense  of  security 
and  association  which  impressed  the  travelers,  was  most 
grateful  to  their  senses,  so  long  unaccustomed  to  any 
society  but  their  own,  and  so  long  obliged  to  keep  their 
senses  on  the  alert  from  the  expectation  of  impending 
danger. 

There  had  been  a  general  ransacking  of  wardrobes 
and  clothing-chests,  and  considerable  amusement  was 
felt  and  expressed  at  the  varied  attire  in  which  the  new 
arrivals  had  attired  themselves. 

Maude  had  hesitated  long  before  accepting  her  fa 
ther's  urgent  invitation  to  return  to  Mount  Mourne. 

On  their  journey  they  had  stopped  at  Boone's  place, 
both  to  give  him  an  opportunity  of  seeing  his  family, 
and  to  enable  Maude  to  make  such  changes  in  her  at 
tire  as  could  be  effected  there.  They  remained  on  the 
Yadkin  a  day  and  a  night ;  and  while  there  Boone  and 
Harry  had  made  their  report  to  Judge  Anderson  and 
the  Squire,  and  the  former  had  willingly  acknowledged 
the  success  of  their  mission  and  the  importance  of  the 
conclusions  which  they  had  reached,  and  which  decided 
him,  and  would,  as  he  believed,  decide  his  associates,  to 
complete  the  prosecution  of  their  scheme  by  negotiat 
ing  for  the  purchase  of  the  lands  which  Boone  and 
Harry  had  examined. 

During  their  absence  Judge  Anderson  had  fulfilled. 


DAXn-.L  BOONE.  39! 

the  promise  he  had  made  to  Boone  to  charge  himself 
with  the  support  of  the  latter's  family,  and  had  regu 
larly  supplied  them  with  whatever  was  necessary  for 
their  sustenance  and  comfort. 

This  little  pause  in  their  journey  gave  them  a  period 
of  rest,  and  enabled  Squire  O'Brien  to  use  the  argu 
ments  necessary  to  induce  his  daughter  to  return  with 
him  to  her  home. 

He  took  upon  himself  the  responsibility  of  assuring 
Maude  of  a  warm  welcome  from  her  mother,  and  no 
further  interference  with  her  plans  for  the  future,  as  to 
which  he  had  become  her  staunch  adherent.  The 
knowledge  he  had  acquired  of  the  manly  course  of 
Harry  Calvert,  and  his  recognition  of  the  respect  in 
which  the  young  man  was  held,  both  by  Daniel  Boone 
and  Judge  Anderson,  had  strongly  impressed  the  Squire, 
whose  affections  had  always  leaned  toward  his  nephew, 
and  he  was  now  determined  that  there  should  be  no 
further  trouble  in  their  household  on  his  account. 

Maude  at  length  yielded,  and  as  Mile.  Raimonde 
would  go  anywhere  her  young  mistress  desired,  and  as 
Harry  had  already  been  won  over  by  his  uncle,  there 
was  nothing  further  to  detain  or  deter  them,  and  the 
otherwise  unaccountable  appearance  at  Mount  Mourne 
of  these  principal  characters  in  our  narrative  is  thus 
easily  explained. 

To  return  to  the  scene  of  placid  comfort  and  satisfac 
tion  which  marked  the  night  of  their  arrival,  nothing 
was  wanting  in  hospitality  and  unremitting  attention 
en  the  part  of  those  whose  pleasant  duty  it  was  to  crv 


392  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

tertain  them,  to  insure  an  agreeable  occasioi    for  th« 
unexpected  guests. 

Her  Ladyship  outdid  herself  in  attendance  on  their 
wants,  and  manifested  a  spirit  of  solicitude  and  recog 
nition  of  their  past  trials,  dangers,  and  afflictions,  which 
was  eminently  creditable  to  her,  and  was  appreciated 
by  those  who  were  the  gainers  by  it. 

As  Maude  reclined  in  an  easy-chair  and  gazed  into 
the  fire,  while  her  lover,  close  beside  her,  murmured 
words  of  tenderness  and  affection  in  her  ear;  and  as 
she  looked  about  over  all  the  kindly  and  loving  faces 
of  those  who  were  grouped  about  her,  she  could  noli 
but  feel  that  the  past  months  of  excitement  and  hard 
ship  had  been  to  her  at  least  a  period  of  probation. 

"  Harry,  dear,"  she  said,  as  this  thought  flashed  upon 
her,  and  her  sweet  face  became  serious  and  even  solemn 
as  she  spoke,  "  there  is  one  thing  which  I  could  not  un 
derstand,  but  which  is  now  made  plain  to  me." 

"And  what  is  that,  dear?"  said  her  lover. 

"  Why,  since  I  have  known  of  what  our  poor  friend 
had  done  for  you  before  we  ever  set  out  on  this  jour 
ney,  it  has  seemed  strange  to  me  that  he  should  have 
permitted  the  enterprise  to  go  on  when  he  could  have 
made  us  all  so  happy  at  once  by  declaring  his  inten 
tion  with  regard  to  you." 

"  Why  do  you  say  me  alone  ?  "  asked  Harry.  "  Sure 
ly  you  must  know  that  you  are  equally  interested  with 
me  in  Rafe's  act,  and  even  that  it  probably  would  not 
have  been  accomplished  hac}  it  not  been  for  his  interest 
in  you  a§  well  as  in  me," 


DANIEL  BOONE.  393 

Maude  blushed,  and  pressed  her  lover's  hand  a  little 
as  she  went  on : 

"  This  has  seemed  strange  to  me,  dear,  and  I  have 
even  thought  that  had  he  acted  thus,  it  would  not  only 
have  been  kinder  to  us  in  sparing  us  so  much  that  we 
have  encountered,  but  that  it  would  also — and  that,  of 
course,  is  far,  far  more  important — have  preserved  to 
us  and  to  himself  his  valuable  life. 

"  But  now,"  she  went  on  after  a  pause,  "  I  seem  to 
understand  it  all.  By  this  act,  by  permitting  us  to 
continue  in  the  plan  we  had  marked  out  for  ourselves ; 
by  not  interfering  with  your  determination,  so  resolute 
and  so  energetic  ;  he  enabled  us  both  to  show  of  what 
kind  of  material  we  were  composed." 

"  Yes,  Maude,  you  are  right,"  said  Harry  gravely. 
"  By  this  course  he  permitted  you  to  display,  as  you 
could  have  done  in  no  other  way,  your  unwavering 
fidelity  to  me,  and  a  degree  of  love  and  of  courage 
based  upon  love  unexampled,  I  believe,  in  history." 

Maude  made  a  deprecating  movement  with  her  dis 
engaged  hand  and  continued  : 

"  And  then,  too,  we  must  remember  that  since  he 
united  himself  with  us  in  our  enterprise,  since  he  volun 
tarily  took  upon  himself  the  responsibility  and  the  ar 
duous  duties  which  were  involved  in  the  charge  of  such 
a  burden  as  I  must  have  been  to  him,  there  could  have 
been  nothing  but  the  purest  unselfishness  and  the  sweet 
est  tenderness  and  affection  for  us  to  have  impelled  him 
to  the  course  he  pursued.  And,  dear,"  she  continued,' 
her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  "  I  know  that  I  am  a  better 


394  THh  LIFL  AND  TIMES  OF 

woman,  and  will  make  a  truer  and  better  wife  to  you 
and  I  know  you  are  a  better  and  braver  man  for  all  this 
that  Rafe  did  for  us." 

"  You  are  entirely  right,  Maude.  I  had  felt  some  of 
the  impressions  which  affected  you ;  and  though  I 
viewed  them  from  a  man's  stand-point,  I  think  I  had 
almost  reached  the  same  conclusions. 

"  I  can  understand  now  something  that  appeared  in 
the  manner  of  Rafe  Slaughter  on  the  day  when  I  re 
ceived  intelligence  of  my  disinheritance,  which  I  did 
not  comprehend  before. 

"  I  believe  that  at  that  moment  his  first  impulse  was 
to  disclose  himself,  and  to  offer  some  provision  for  us 
which  should  render  unnecessary  the  step  I  then  an 
nounced  my  determination  to  take.  But  his  far-seeing 
judgment  told  him  that  to  permit  me  to  continue  in 
the  course  I  had  laid  down  for  myself,  and  to  trust  to 
Providence  that  all  would  come  right  in  the  end,  would 
be  better  and  wiser  and  more  certain  to  produce  a 
happy  and  perfect  result ;  and  that  he  was  right,  though 
so  sadly  and  unfortunately  for  himself,  is  now  manifest 
to  both  of  us." 

The  two  sat  silent  after  this  for  some  time,  while 
they  listened  to  the  conversation  that  was  going  on 
about  them,  and  in  which  all  from  time  to  time  united. 

At  last,  as  this  long  and  happy  evening  was  drawing 
to  a  close,  Judge  Anderson  rose  where  he  was  sitting 
between  Daniel  Boone  and  the  Squire,  and  desiring  the 
attention  of  those  present  for  a  moment,  placed  his  hand 
on  the  shoulder  of  the  hunter  and  spoke  as  follows : 


DAfrfEL  BOONE. 


395 


"  My  friends,  while  we  are  all  here  together,  many  oi 
us  warmly  recognizing  and  appreciating  the  safety  whicn 
has  been  granted  them  in  the  face  of  many  dangers,  1 
desire  to  announce  my  entire  satisfaction  with  the 
manner  in  which  so  much  of  this  enterprise  as  I  insti 
gated  has  been  carried  out. 

"  My  friend  Daniel  Boone  has  added  greatly  to  his 
reputation  by  the  success  with  which  he  has  accomplish 
ed  the  dangerous  and  difficult  task  which  I  set  him 
more  than  two  years  ago ;  and  which,  during  nearly  all 
of  that  time,  he  has  been  engaged  in  prosecuting. 

"  His  report  to  me  has  confirmed  my  views,  and  will, 
I  am  certain,  be  accepted  by  those  who  are  concerned 
with  me ;  and  in  complimenting  him  I  am  glad  to 
unite  with  his  the  name  of  my  young  friend,  Mr.  Cal- 
vert,  who  so  bravely  set  forth  alone  to  find  him,  suc 
ceeded  in  doing  so,  and  accompanied  him  throughout 
his  perilous  journey,  sustaining  him  nobly  by  his  cour 
age  and  by  his  friendly  counsel. 

"  It  will  be  my  duty  and  pleasure,  as  will  be  the  case 
with  my  associates,  of  whom  my  friend  the  Squire  here 
is  one,  to  see  that  such  provision  is  made  for  Mr.  Cal- 
vert  as  shall  amply  reward  him  for  his  share  in  this  im 
portant  undertaking. 

"  As  for  Daniel  Boone,  we  have  always  been  friends, 
and  our  friendship  is  now  more  staunch  and  well  found 
ed  than  before." 

Grasping  the  hand  of  the  hunter,  he  continued : 

•'  He  will  be  associated  with  me  hereafter  in  this  pur. 
pose,  and  will  continue  to  direct  whatever  pioneei 


396  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

action  shall  be  required  in  carrying  it  out.  I  may  prop 
erly  add  that  it  will  not  be  long  before  I  shall  call  upon 
him  to  act  for  me  in  the  final  transaction  by  which  I 
expect  to  acquire  for  our  organization  the  vast  tracts  oi 
territory  over  which  he  has  lately  passed,  and  concern 
ing  which  his  report  is  so  satisfactory." 

As  the  Judge  concluded,  there  was  a  general  move 
ment,  and  most  of  those  present  pressed  eagerly  for 
ward  to  grasp  the  hand  of  the  honest  hunter,  who 
could  not  help  showing  some  signs  of  diffidence  as  he 
acknowledged  the  compliments  which  were  showered 
upon  him,  and  as  to  which  Harry  Calvert  came  in  for  a 
large  share. 

The  party  presently  broke  up  for  the  night. 

On  the  following  day  Judge  Anderson  and  his  Gran- 
ville  followers  left  Mount  Mourne,  taking  with  them 
their  two  prisoners,  designing  to  incarcerate  them  in 
the  jail  at  Hillsborough,  where  they  would  remain  un 
til  term  time,  which  would  occur  in  a  few  weeks. 

To  dispatch  finally  this  portion  of  our  narrative,  it 
may  be  stated  that  the  two  men  were  tried  at  Hills- 
borough,  another  judge  sitting  on  the  bench,  Judge 
Anderson  declining  on  account  of  his  intimate  connec 
tion  with  the  case,  and  of  the  fact  that  his  services 
were  required  as  a  most  important  witness. 

During  the  trial,  the  whole  course  of  Stephen  Rob 
erts  with  regard  to  the  murdered  Rafe  Slaughter  was 
laid  bare,  and  the  various  papers  bearing  upon  it  were 
put  in  as  evidence. 

The  result  of  the  trial  was  that  Brownell  was  convict 


SAtilbL 

ed  of  murder  in  the  first  degree,  and  sentenced  to  be 
hanged  ;  a  sentence  which  was  carried  into  effect  with 
in  ten  days  of  the  time  when  it  was  pronounced.  His 
companion,  Hunter,  was  found  guilty  of  being  an  acces 
sory,  and  by  arrangement  with  the  proper  authorities 
was  sent  to  England,  where  he  was  imprisoned  for  life 
at  hard  labor. 


Judge  Anderson  had  not  been  permitted  to  take  his 
departure  from  the  hospitable  mansion  of  Mount 
Mourne  until  a  promise  had  been  exacted  from  him 
that  he  would  return  at  the  Christmas  holidays  with 
Mrs.  Anderson  and  his  daughter  Jessie,  whom  we  intro 
duced  to  the  render  in  an  early  chapter ;  and  that  they 
would  be  present  at  the  ceremony  of  marriage  between 
Maude  O'Brien  and  Harry  Calvert,  which  was  to  be 
solemnized  on  Christmas  Eve  at  the  residence  of  the 
bride's  father. 

This  agreement  on  the  part  of  the  Judge  was  car- 
ried  out  punctiliously;  and  on  Christmas  Eve,  I77r> 
there  were  assembled  at  Mount  Mourne  all  of  those 
personages  with  whom  the  reader  is  now  familiar;  and 
then  and  there  Harry  and  Maude  were  made  man  and 
wife. 

At  this  ceremony  Thomas  Hardeman  acted  as  best 
man,  and  sweet  Jessie  Anderson,  with  one  of  Harde- 
man's  sisters  and  one  or  two  other  young  ladies  of  the 
neighborhood,  filled,  with  a  due  sense  of  their  impor 
tance,  the  position  of  bridesmaids. 


398       LtF£  AttD  TIMES  OF  DAJVI8L  fiOONE. 

The  festivities  of  this  occasion  were  the  talk  of  the 
surrounding  country  for  years  afterward,  and  among 
the  servants  of  the  neighboring  planters,  with  whom 
Mike  Dooley  became  forever  after  a  hero,  and  Rose  a 
heroine,  no  such  wonderful  event  was  ever  remembered 
as  the  Christmas  wedding  of  Harry  Calvert  and  Misf 
Maude. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

"On  \\atauga."  Daniel  Boone  appears  in  a  new  character,  and  the  Reada 
k  present  on  an  important  historical  occasion.  The  narrative  fittingly  con 
eludes  at  the  grave  of  one  of  its  chief  personages. 

IN  the  month  of  March,  1775,  and  on  the  I7th  day  of 
that  month,  a  strange  and  picturesque  scene  was  being 
enacted  on  the  banks  of  the  Watauga  River,  at  a 
point  located  where  that  .stream  has  not  yet  left  the 
boundary-line  of  North  Carolina. 

Here  a  level  plateau,  but  little  covered  with  forest 
-•growth,  extended  for  several  miles  in  all  directions. 

To  the  east  two  gigantic  peaks  reared  their  tall  forms , 
five  thousand  and  more  feet  in  the  air.  The  clear  and 
beautiful  waters  of  the  Watauga  flowed  with  a  rapid 
current  from  its  source  in  the  adjoining  hills,  northwest 
ward,  toward  its  confluence  with  the  Holston,  in  East 
ern  Tennessee.  The  ground  was  carpeted  with  soft, 
wavy  grass,  brilliant  with  the  first  green  of  spring. 

Almost  forming  a  perfect  amphitheater,  about  whose 
outlines  the  foot-hills  rose  to  the  more  elevated  range 
beyond,  in  defined  terraces,  it  would  seem  as  though  this 
spot  had  been  exactly  fitted  by  Nature  for  the  scene  of 
some  important  action  on  the  part  of  man. 

And  the  surroundings  and  accessories  on  the  occasion 
we  are  about  to  describe,  were  such  as  would  have 


400  THE  LfFE  Ahti  TIMES  OF 

speedily  informed  the  curious  spectator  that  some  tran& 
action  of  grave  moment  was  about  to  be  completed. 

The  situation  was  dramatic  in  the  extreme. 

At  a  point  on  the  plain,  lying  near  the  bank  of  the 
stream,  rude  preparations  had  apparently  been  made 
for  the  conduct  of  some  ceremonial,  the  nature  of  which, 
however,  the  appearances  did  not  indicate. 

Here  a  few  rough  logs  and  carelessly  hewn  boards 
had  been  put  together  in  the  form  of  a  table ;  beside 
which,  sections  sawn  from  the  trunk  of  a  tree  were 
placed  to  serve  the  purpose  of  seats. 

At  present,  no  one  was  sitting  upon  them,  but  on  the 
table  were  pens,  ink,  and  paper,  arranged  as  though  pre« 
liminary  to  the  execution  of  some  important  legal  act. 

Standing  a  short  distance  from  the  table  was  a  group 
of  Indians,  who,  by  the  care  that  had  been  displayed  in 
their  attire,  and  by  their  proud  and  stately  carriage, 
would  have  been  rightly  judged  to  be  warriors  and 
chiefs  of  high  position  and  repute. 

They  were,  in  fact,  Cherokee  chiefs  ;  and  the  absence 
of  war-paint  from  their  countenances,  and  their  gener 
ally  peaceful  aspect,  showed  that  whatever  might  be 
the  meaning  of  their  presence  here,  and  the  nature  of 
their  mission,  it  was  not  of  a  warlike  character. 

Standing  about  singly,  clustered  together  in  groups, 
lying  about  upon  the  ground,  or  crouched  in  a  frequent 
Indian  attitude,  were  gathered  hundreds  of  Cherokee 
warriors,  perhaps  to  the  number  of  a  thousand ;  some 
engaged  in  conversation  in  low  tones,  others  simply 
gazing  about  with  that  air  of  stolid  indifference  to  ex- 


DANIEL  BOONE. 


4OI 


ternal  things  which  has  ever  been  so  peculiarly  a  char 
acteristic  of  the  North  American  Indian  races. 

They  were  garbed  in  many  costumes  and  were  bril 
liant  in  many  hues. 

Over  the  buckskin  hunting-shirt,  with  its  deep-fringed 
border,  was  hung  in  some  instances  a  broad  belt  extend 
ing  from  the  shoulder  to  the  waist,  woven  with  wam 
pum  and  porcupine  quills  dyed  in  various  colors,  and 
to  which  was  hung  the  wearer's  powder-horn,  often 
richly  ornamented,  or  his  gaudy  shot-bag  or  tobacco- 
pouch. 

Some  of  these  warriors  were  clad,  outside  the  hunt- 
ifng-shirt,  in  blankets  of  different  colors,  that  hung  from 
the  shoulder  to  the  ankles. 

A  portion  of  them  carried  rifles,  but  the  larger  num 
ber  held  in  their  hands  long  bows,  and  the  deerskin 
pouch  for  the  arrows  showed  the  feathered  tips  of 
these  projectiles  rising  above  the  left  shoulder. 

The  chiefs  were  profusely  ornamented  by  head-gears 
of  feathers  ;  and  beads  and  wampum  in  different  com 
binations  adorned  various  parts  of  their  persons. 

Turning  from  inspection  of  these  wild  and  restless 
denizens  of  the  forest,  the  eye  would  have  been  caught 
by  another  group,  differing  widely  in  the  characteristics 
of  those  who  composed  it,  from  the  ones  we  have  de 
scribed. 

They  stood  apart  from  the  Indians,  and  were  engaged 
in  conversation  among  themselves. 

Prominent  among  them  would  have  been  recognized 
the  towering  figure  of  Daniel  Boone,  who  stood  a  little 


402  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

away  from  the  others,  and  as  he  leaned  uf  on  the  mm- 
/le  of  his  rifle,  regarded  the  scene  stretched  out  before 
him,  placidly,  but  evidently  not  with  indifference. 

To  the  Kentucky  pioneer  this  day  was  that  of  the 
culmination  of  his  labors,  and  the  result  of  his  dangers 
and  privations  during  six  years  of  almost  continuous 
service  in  the  wilderness,  and  of  constant  battle  with 
the  savage  hordes  infesting  it. 

Many  times  had  his  life  been  in  imminent  danger, 
and  been  spared,  as  it  seemed,  almost  by  providential 
intervention. 

He  had  been  captured  by  the  Indians  and  held  a 
prisoner  months  at  a  time — and  escaped  at  last.  A 
general  warfare  was  now  in  process  of  being  under 
taken  by  the  Colonists  against  their  savage  foes ;  it 
was  but  a  month  previous  that  the  news  of  the  battle 
of  Lexington  thrilled  the  American  people  with  the 
first  impulse  of  the  struggle  for  liberty  which  was  im 
pending  ;  already  the  predictions  of  Stephen  Roberts — 
that  a  general  outbreak  was  close  at  hand — was  about 
being  established  by  historical  facts  ;•  but  up  to  this 
time,  Daniel  Boone  had  not  been  drawn  into  the  vor 
tex  of  political  disturbance,  but  had  held  steadily  and 
conscientiously  to  the  prosecution  of  the  important 
mission  which  had  been  confided  to  his  charge — and 
whose  final  consummation  was  about  to  take  place. 

Staunch,  conscientious,  daring,  and  resolute,  the 
hardy  pioneer  could  gaze  to  the  westward  in  the  direc 
tion  of  thousands  of  square  miles  of  territory,  and  say : 
•'  I  have  wrested  this  vast  expanse  of  land  from  its  sav 


DANIEL  BOONE  403 

Age  owners,  to  bequeath  it  as  a  precious  heritage  fof 
the  enriching  of  future  generations." 

That  possibly  some  conception  of  the  grandeur  of  his 
career  iti  its  ultimate  results,  passed  through  the  mind 
of  Daniel  Boone,  as  he  stood  regarding  the  preparations 
for  the  ceremonial  about  to  take  place,  is  not  inconsist 
ent  with  the  thoughtful  nature  of  the  man. 

Near  to  him  stood  our  old  friend  Harry  Calvert  ; 
and  beside  him,  her  beautiful  face  and  graceful  figure 
easily  to  be  recognized,  though  the  latter  had  rounded 
somewhat  into  matronly  proportions,  and  resting  upon 
his  arm,  was  his  sweet  wife,  whom  the  reader  has 
followed  in  her  fortunes  and  misfortunes  as  Maude 
O'Brien. 

Harry  had  filled  out  into  the  proportions  of  a  man 
of  affairs,  as  was  proper  in  the  case  of  one  who  for  sev 
eral  years  had  farmed  extensive  tracts  of  land  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Clinch  River,  and  of  the  burial- 
place  of  his  cousin,  while  he  waited  for  the  slow  proc 
esses  which  should  eventually  put  him  in  possession  of 
his  ''promised  land." 

The  remaining  persons  who  made  up  the  group  of 
whites,  were  :  Thomas  Hardeman,  in  whose  sweet-faced 
and  blushing  companion  the  reader  would  have  no 
difficulty  in  recognizing  Jessie  Anderson,  whose  pretty, 
girlish  prattle  had  served  to  entertain  Daniel  Boone 
during  his  memorable  visit  to  the  estate  of  her  father, 
now  more  than  six  years  ago.  The  bridesmaid  of 
Mount  Mourne  had  become  herself  a  bride  two  years 
later,  and  Thomas  Hardeman  had  brought  her  to  wit- 


404  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF 

ness  the  final  act  in  the  enterprise  in  which  he  had 
himself  been  no  idle  actor. 

Near  this  party,  and  evidently  in  attendance  upon  its 
members,  was  Mike  Dooley,  a  little  grizzled,  and  show 
ing  the  effect  of  advancing  years,  but  with  as  jolly  a 
countenance  and  as  humorous  a  twinkle  in  his  gray 
eyes  as  ever. 

This  completed  the  party,  the  gentlemen  of  which 
had  been  duly  accredited  by  the  "  Proprietors  of  Tran 
sylvania"  that  were  to  be,  to  represent  their  interests 
in  the  treaty  with  the  Cherokees  which  was  presently 
to  be  completed  ;  and  in  which  Daniel  Boone  was  to 
be  the  principal  agent  of  the  purchasers  of  the  lands 
to  be  deeded  by  this  instrument,  his  two  companions 
acting  as  witnesses  to  his  signature. 

The  positions  of  the  various  personages  who  were 
about  to  transact  this  important  business,  were  now 
suddenly  changed  at  a  word  from  Boone. 

Desiring  the  others  of  his  party  to  accompany  him, 
he  approached  the  rude  table — a  movement  which  was  at 
once  imitated  by  the  group  of  Cherokee  chiefs  who  stood 
near,  and  who  were  accompanied  by  an  interpreter. 

Seating  himself — an  action  in  which  he  was  at  once 
imitated  by  the  others — and  drawing  from  a  pouch 
which  hung  at  his  side,  a  document  in  two  copies,  en 
grossed  upon  parchment,  Boone  proceeded  to  read  it 
aloud  in  English.  On  concluding,  he  handed  it  to  the 
interpreter,  who  in  turn  translated  it  into  the  Chero 
kee  tongue,  while  the  chiefs  listened  in  grave  silence  to 
the  enumeration  of  its  provisions, 


DANIEL  600NE. 

The  specific  description  of  the  lands  to  be  sold 
by  the  Cherokees  to  Judge  Anderson  and  his  asso 
ciates,  as  contained  in  the" Treaty, was  as  follows:  "All 
that  tract  of  land  beginning  at  the  mouth,  or  junction 
of  the  Kentucky  or  Louisa  River  with  the  Ohio  ;  thence 
to  the  source  of  the  former :  thence  south,  into  Ten 
nessee,  until  a  westward  line  shall  cross  the  Cumberland 
mountains  so  as  to  strike  the  ridge  which  divides  the 
waters  of  the  Tennessee  from  those  of  the  Cumberland ; 
and  with  that  ridge  to  the  Ohio  River ;  and  with  that 
river  to  the  mouth  of  the  Kentucky  or  Louisa  River 
again." 

The  instrument  being  read  and  accepted  by  the 
agreeing  parties,  nothing  remained  to  be  done  but  to 
affix  to  each  copy  the  signatures  of  those  executing  it, 
and  of  the  witnesses. 

This  occupied  some  time,  each  chief  having  to  place 
in  its  proper  position  in  the  document  against  the  name 
by  which  he  was  known,  his  "totem"  or  sign-manual ; 
but  at  length  the  act  was  concluded  by  all  concerned, 
and  the  Treaty  of  Watauga  was  an  accomplished  fact. 

Then,  with  cordial  hand-shakes,  frequent  ejaculations 
of  "  How !  How ! "  and  general  leave-taking,  the  con 
tracting  parties  separated,  and  the  scene  of  this  char 
acteristic  transaction  was  in  a  few  hours  silent  and  de 
serted. 

Boone  and  his  party  entered  the  wagon  by  which 
they  had  all  traveled  from  their  settlement  on  the 
Clinch  River,  and  were  speedily  being  driven  by  Mike 
Dooley  on  their  road  homeward. 


406        LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  DANIEL  BOONE. 

Then  the  Indians  took  up  their  line  of  march  toward 
their  village  in  the  far  southwest. 

On  a  lovely  moonlight  evening,  perhaps  a  week  later, 
Maude  and  Harry  stood  beside  the  grave  of  their  dead 
friend  and  benefactor. 

It  lay  within  the  bounds  of  their  own  estate,  and  had 
been  carefully  tended,  and  the  sod  above  it  bloomed 
with  the  first  flowers  of  spring.  At  its  head  was  a  plain 
gray  stone  shaft,  on  which  was  inscribed — after  the  rec 
ord  of  his  name  and  years — this  sentiment : 

H*  I  WA»  |  FAITHFUL  |  OTTO  |  DEATH. 


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